


Mad Max: RWBY Road

by Maldevinine



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), RWBY
Genre: 'Straya, Action/Adventure, Australian Aboriginal Mythology, Original Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maldevinine/pseuds/Maldevinine
Summary: The Grimmlands surrounding Salem's Tower are harsh, violent and sparsely populated. But they are not entirely unpopulated. From a spire of rock, the Furiosa sends her Warboys out to scavenge what they can from the wasteland and on the day Salem died they came back with something very special.





	1. Birds in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> And welcome to a stupid idea given life. This came about basically because the thought of people stabbing Grimm from the backs of utes was too much fun to pass up. This is not intended to be a huge work, maybe a hundred thousand words by the time I've covered the things that I want to have happen. There will be a lot of Australian slang and Australian Aboriginal words. I'll try and remember to explain them when they come up. There will also be a lot of swearing, because Australia. Anyway, there's a comments section below. Abuse it (and me).

The black dots in the sky had been watched with interest and magnifying lenses as they drew closer. When they were close enough for detail to be picked out with accuracy, a hurried warboy was sent for the Furiosa. These were no Nevermore returning from yet another raid, or not even the larger servants of the Lady of the Grimm in her Tower. These were clearly of human make, and yet they headed in a straight line for her tower. Three of them in formation, grey metal hulls with only the barest of paint to identify them.

The Furiosa placed a hand around the steering wheel that sat leaning against her chair and rose. Somebody was facing the Lady, and for better or worse her Warboys would be there to see it.

The convoy was rolling out when the first of the explosions was reported. A cloud of dust and pink Dust visible from the top of the spire that the Furiosa held against the Grimm. Signal mirrors flashed telling those in the convoy that battle had been joined, and Imperator Karst used hand signals from where he stood through the sunroof of the modified troop carrier that was his steed for the pace to be picked up. The Dust to fuel these vehicles was rare and to be conserved at every opportunity, but this was an event that would not happen within the lifetime of the warboys again. And even if the Lady of the Grimm was victorious, those flying vehicles would be salvage worthy of the trip.

Normally any trip away from the spire would be a constant running battle against Grimm, an extending trail of carnage over sand, hard clay and vicious rocks. This trip started no differently with Grimm moving towards the convoy even before they were in sight but the battle failed to happen. Every Grimm was moving at it's best speed towards the Tower and after the first few potshots Karst ordered weapons held. The Lady must have been truly threatened to bring her forces like this, and every weapon would be needed when they got to the Tower. Things that didn't take ammunition were fair game, and more then one wheelman took delight in forcing Grimm to run into rocks or off edges.

Few Grimm could match the higher speeds that the convoy was maintaining, and they passed into a clear zone as they traveled. Speeds dropped as they entered the broken and stony earth around the Tower, but old maps and forward scouting from those warboys crazy enough to ride the scout poles proved true, bringing them unharmed to the closest thing to a clear area that existed near the Tower. Two of the three flying vehicles had survived to land here. Debris from the last one could be seen scattered in a line facing towards the Tower. Even in death whoever had come this way had not faltered. More hand signals from Karst and long practice had the convey fracturing to make the most of the opportunity. A flatbed trailer behind the smaller of the trucks that the Furiosa commanded was reversed into position and a group tried to work out how to load the closest of the flying vehicles intact. The other vehicles were searched and stripped once nobody was found inside. Everything not bolted down was thrown into the backs of utes and strapped to lancer's perches. Then the impact drivers and crowbars came out to deal with the bolts.

The bikes that had been outriders for the convey kept moving, splitting up and checking for Grimm or survivors. Utes with scout poles kept moving as well, ringing the clearing to provide what warning they could for the approach of the summoned Grimm horde that even now was beginning to darken the horizon. Imperator Karst looked out upon the horde, then started the rhythm of the drums and picked out three flares from the pile next to him. The warboys heard the drums and prepared for the fight. The observers in the Spire saw the colours burst in the sky and knew that nobody would be coming back.

“We Live, We Die, We Live Again” echoed Furiosa and Imperator.

 

The Grimm hit in an even more mindless wave then usual. The vehicles and warboys riding in them were just obstacles between them and their Queen, to be ignored as they ran. The fastest waves paid horribly for this, picked off or run over as they rushed forward. The second wave was when the fighting started, as larger Grimm who took more then one shot to take down were able to close and the warboys, practiced at running battles where mobility was their greatest strength, found themselves trying to hold a fixed location. Priceless vehicles were lost as overwhelming numbers rammed them and crushed those inside. The first of the flying vehicles was on the tray and being strapped down as Karst tried to work out how to breach the onrushing swarm and return anything of his small convoy to the safety of the Spire.

He was distracted by a patter of dark volcanic glass, and looked up to see the huge windows at the top of the Tower broken outwards and three figures falling from it. The largest was all in black, with tentacles flicking out from her shape to bat at the other two. The Lady of the Grimm had to personally take the field against whoever had been crazy enough to attack her, and she appeared to be losing. The smallest of the three defended against the tentacles with flashes of green light, controlling their fall to draw closer to the Lady. The last seemed to flash from place to place, a large curved blade sweeping around her and cutting the tentacles whenever they got too close. Then the smallest grabbed the Lady, and the scythe wielder flashed silver.

The light was visible even against the brilliant sun, throwing the whole tower into stark relief. But more impressive was it's effect on the Lady, whose tentacles froze entirely and then started to dissolve into the mist that always followed the death of a Grimm. With the Lady now incapable of protecting herself, the scythe wielder jumped one last time, the scythe swung into the Lady, and the whole mess impacted the rocks.

Every Grimm stopped, then reared as best they could and _howled_. The syncronised noise overwrote every other sound and the warboys took their chances, finishing current opponents and disengaging, trying to salvage something from the fight. The howl lasted maybe thirty seconds, and in that time two more bodies had jumped from the window. Not that the Grimm stopped fighting, but they were less directed then before. For a short time this made them more dangerous as they actually engaged warboys that they could see, but the greater horde beyond began to disperse and fight amoungst themselves with no other target. Karst watched this and came up with only one explanation. The Lady was dead. Another flare was launched, the colour of victory, and Karst's wheelman brought him closer to where the bodies had landed. The second group to leap from the Tower landed close to the initial impact, but much better controlled.

Karst lept from the troopy, throwing himself the last few paces to where he could see the landing site. The Lady's body was still there, with the curved blade sticking out of her chest. The curved blade also stuck out of the arm of the smallest body, a young boy that could be at most 14 and was whimpering and tugging at the pain. The wielder of the scythe was a young woman, maybe 17 and small for her age, dressed in red and leather. She still held the haft, but it had broken free from the blade on impact and she was trying to use it to prop herself up on legs that twisted in ways they should not. A woman with hair of gold and an arm of steel knelt next to her, trying to help her up. The last figure was an older man in a mid length grey coat with a sword stabbed into the ground next to him, who was tying off a bandage around the top of the youngest boy's damaged arm.

Karst fell to his armoured knees, white body paint streaked with sweat. He interlaced his hands, eight fingers pointing outwards in a V-shape, and he bowed to the saviours.

 


	2. The Spoils of Warboys

Ruby awoke to white light, Jaune's face and a cave hung with a torturer's wet dream of tools. Her scream was a perfectly reasonable response to the situation.

“Relax Ruby, relax.” Jaune shouted over the top of her. “You're safe, Salem is dead, everything is going to be fine” he continued in a softer voice when she had to pause for breath.

“He's right you know. Your meat mechanic is something special. If it was down to me I'd have had both of those legs off and be fitting you for a custom wheelchair.” came from a face that pushed it's way into her vision. At least she assumed there was a face under the unkempt beard that seemed to grow everywhere out from his frame.

“Wheelchair!?” Ruby screamed again.

“Damn straight. Would have been a bonza wheelchair too, all shiny and chome with deployable blades for kneecapping people. Still, you're doing better then that kid you lot brought in. He needs a new elbow after we dragged that scythe blade out of it.”

“Oscar!?”

“That his name? He's been out since you hit him. And you hit him hard, that blade is in two pieces and it's not connected to the shaft anymore.”

“CRESCENT ROSE!?”

One of Jaune's hands flashed out and covered the gap in the beard that noise was coming from.

“Relax, Ruby. Everything is fine and you'll be up and walking again shortly.”

“But my baby.” Ruby pouted involuntarily.

“I know about your priorities, but you have to get better first, then you can apologise to Oscar, then you can fix Crescent Rose.”

“But my baby.” Ruby's continued pouting had the desired outcome. Jaune's free hand came up from her leg to cup her cheek and she nuzzled into it. He brought his other hand to frame her face when he was reminded what he had been doing with it.

“There'll be none of that in here, this is a hospital. And come here boy, you're the best meat mechanic I've ever seen and there's Warboys that need fixing.”

With that memory of his touch replacing the pain from her legs, Ruby went back to sleep.

 

As the oldest of those currently conscious, Qrow had the task of facing the Furiosa and attempting to explain what was going on, with a side of thanks for the rescue and could we please have the bullheads back so we can go home. He ran a hand through his feather-like black hair and sighed. Diplomacy was not his strong suite, and so far the discussion had consisted of staring at each other. At least the leader of the group that had rescued them was standing next to the Furisoa's throne. He was staring with what seemed to be awe, so at least someone here was on Qrow's side.

Not that Qrow was really on Qrow's side at this point. The bullhead ride in, then fighting through Salem's tower, holding off Tyrian while Ruby and Ozpin pushed Salem out of that window, having to watch Ruby jump out of that window, following her out once Tyrian was dealt with, then the sudden panic of finding not Grimm waiting for them at the bottom, but some heavily armed and barely dressed force of humans fighting the Grimm from the backs of cars of all things. Then the breakout of the Grimm lines, getting the convoy through it and onto the open clay pan, more panicking about the damage to Ruby that Jaune was trying to heal, the damage to Ozpin, the staggered collapse of the team as 22 hours of combat caught up with them. It was now 37 hours without sleep, even if the last two had been spent mostly relaxing and watching sand pass by under the wheels.

He looked back at the Furiosa. They could not have been more different, him in his admittedly battered but still functional grey tailcoat and dress pants, her in an oil stained breast binding and armoured black pants, her hair shaved close to the skull and face decorated with black across the forehead and around the eyes. He sighed, ran his hand through his hair again and got started.

“Look, thanks for collecting us, none of us thought we were going to survive but what are you even doing out here?”

“Furiosa Violetta.”

Qrow tilted his head in askance

“You are in my Spire, saved by my deeds. I will be referred to by name and title.”

“Fine. Furiosa Violetta, I thank you for your rescue, and I beg hospitality till my companions are recovered.” Qrow barely kept the sarcasm out of his voice.

“You killed the Lady of the Grimm. You have our hospitality for as long as you are here. Now, warboy, bring our guest a chair. We have much to learn from him. Starting with a name.”

“Qrow.”

 

Weiss was slowly but surely breaking down. She had agreed to come with the full expectation that this was a suicide mission. She had put aside everything she wanted, pushed her feelings about the suffering and deprivation into a tiny ball inside her in the sure knowledge that it would all be over and she would not have to deal with it.

And then they were rescued. She survived, the deprivation didn't end and if anything it got worse. She had gone from a cramped if well appointed bullhead to a literal hole in the mountain, surrounded by people with an even laxer understanding of clothing then _Sun_. Blake and Yang were taking this as an opportunity to appreciate the male form, which wasn't helping and neither was the constant bowing and interlaced finger salute they gave every time they saw one. Still, her interest was piqued when she saw one of the “warboys” give that salute to somebody that _wasn't_ her or her teammates.

An obviously pregnant woman who could not have been any older then Weiss was making her way through the tunnels towards the... Guest Room was what Weiss had taken to calling it, because she refused to admit she was in a cell. She called out to Yang and Blake, and all three were standing when their visitor arrived. The visitor laced her fingers in the V salute and bowed her head. Weiss reflectively curtsied in response while Blake and Yang just stared. When both looked up again the visiting woman smiled and greeted them.

“I am Mother Ruthless. Follow me and we'll get you somewhere more appropriate to your status.”

She turned and left, and Weiss was forced to admit things were getting better. If nothing else, a set of breast bindings was closer to dressed then all the half-naked, white painted men that she had seen so far.

Apparently their status was high, because they were brought almost to the top of the rock spire. At this height thin windows carved straight through the rock let in light, and the stone floors were carved and smoothed into decorative patterns. The room they were in when Mother Ruthless finally stopped was best described as a sitting room, because there were lots of women sitting in it. Most were pregnant, nursing or caring for children. There was also some sort of hierarchy based on age, with the older women sitting further out from the centre and on benches that actually had cushions. The lax attitude towards clothing continued with none of the children or babies wearing anything. Now they were in the sun Weiss began to see the point, the heat turning into a baking sensation on her skin.

Yang wasn't bothered by this at all, and was already cross legged on the floor trying to play with one of the wandering babies. The baby was far more interested in Blake's shoes, and Yang had instead attracted a 4 or 5 year old, who was trying to grab and play with her steel fingers.

“That one's going to be a blacktounge when she's older. Look at her already trying to find out how the arm works” Mother Ruthless said with some pride.

“Mrs Ruthless, can I ask..” Weiss began

“Mother Ruthless, thank you.” the woman Weiss was addressing said, rubbing her belly with some pride. “And yes, you may ask almost anything.”

“Very well, Mother Ruthless. What I want to ask is... Everything. Where are we, how do you live here, how are we going to live here, where are our friends, what do you mean by blacktounge, will I ever get to go home?” Weiss' words ran together as she spoke, faster and faster as she asked each question. When she stumbled over her words and stopped for breath, a hand came down on her shoulder.

“Why don't you park your tail here, introduce yourself and your friends, and then we can work through your questions. We have time and you have nothing to fear in here.”

“Yes, yes. Seat.” Weiss was guided down to a surprisingly comfortable stone bench. Not actually comfortable, just not as bad as a piece of rock should have been. “My name is Weiss Schnee, the lady with the yellow hair and robot arm is Yang Xiao-Long and the black-haired lady is Blake Belladonna. From the top, what is this place?”

“You are in the Spire, our bastion against the Grimm, held by Furiosa Violetta since the Furiosa before went to the sun. This specifically is the mother's common room. It's where we can relax, and attached to wives' section, where you will be staying.”

Weiss relaxed as Mother Ruthless talked, closing her eyes and letting herself feel safe for the first time in weeks.

 

Ren leaned against the side of the Bullhead, in a staring match with two warboys. Both carried extensive toolbelts and were fingering the larger spanners and screwdrivers. Ren had Stormflower in hand, the blades sitting just outside his crossed arms. Nora completely ignored the tension in the air and kept up a running commentary about the room they found themselves in. It was a fascinating room, a large void blown into the mountain with the main entry a human powered lift large enough to take the trucks and trailers that were stored in it. It was clearly a workshop as well, with endless rows of tools hung from walls and suspended from the ceiling. The vehicles that had made it back from the trip to Salem's tower were already being worked on. The injured had been rushed out one of the side tunnels, but with Jaune at Ruby's side Ren wasn't worried. Blake, Yang and Weiss could also take care of themselves and the leader of the convoy had dragged Qrow out of here. That left him to protect what was possibly their only way home.

“Look mate, we get that you're fond of your vehicle, but how are we meant to fix it if you won't let us on?”

Ren moved his gaze over to the one that had spoken

“I heard it flies. Is that fair dinkum mate?”

And back to the other. They were tag-teaming the conversation, giving each other time to come up with something to say

“Flying? Strewth. Never worked on anything that flew before. Hey, you want us to polish it while we're here? It'd look better in chrome.”

“Nah mate, needs to be black. And then we'll just do some fine linework with the chrome, make it look like Nevermore feathers.”

“No. Pink. With lightning bolts coming out of it”

Great, Nora had entered the conversation.

“Nora, do not encourage them. And you two are not getting on board the Bullhead.”

“Bullhead? That's a weird name.”

“Yeah, it doesn't look much like a bull. I would have called it a Goomblegubbon.”

“Anyway, Nora was it? Can you get your warboy to let us in?”

“Silly, Ren's not mine. We're together, but not together-together.”

Faced with Nora's logic for the first time, the two warboys looked at each other in confusion. Then they nodded and turned back.

“Nora, Ren. I'm Jard, this is Critty. How about one of us goes with one of you and we'll just do a quick squidgy-didge. Check the outside for holes, top up the dust. We won't steal anything.”

“Not even if it's not nailed down.”

“Quiet you.”

Ren looked between the two warboys, who had sheathed their tools in at least an attempt to look non-threatening, and Nora, who smiled and bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. He couldn't see any good way out of this, not with only Nora to back him up.

“Fine. Critty, you're with me. Lets go over this and make sure you didn't break it when you moved it.”

“Why me? Jard's the better black-tounge.”

“I trust you less. You're not leaving my sight. Nora, don't let the other one do anything.”

“Sure Ren. Hey, what do you think of hammers?”

Ren tuned out Nora's babble with the skill of long practice while watching Critty. He may have been messing around when talking, but now he had changed to a far more serious man. He was running his hand over the sections of the hull that had the chains over them, checking the small scratches that been left. Ren followed him around the other side as he checked that, then squatted and in a straight leap got high enough to grab onto the top of the wing. A few seconds of frantically treading air and he was on top of the wing. Ren took a few steps towards towards the bullhead to get up to speed, then jumped, jumped off the side of the bullhead, jumped off the VTOL engine and joined Critty on top of the wing.

“You're better at that then I am. Anyway, look here. The chains over the wing have been pulled down into it, probably when we hit the corrugations. There's dents where it ran over the edge. I don't know if that will stop it from flying, but keep an eye on it.”

Ren nodded, and followed again as Critty pointed out a similar set of dents in the other wing. Then without warning Critty walked of the edge and dropped out of sight.

“Hey, you gonna open this door or what? Can't check the inside if you won't let me in.”

Ren sighed for what he was sure was just going to be the next time in a long line, and lowered himself off the side of the wing to show the black-tounge around.

 

Jaune followed the shock of hair belonging to the Meat Mechanic through the tunnels of the infirmary, checking over the few who had taken injuries and were lucky enough to survive. Fighting Grimm at the even cruising speeds for a convoy did not leave much room for error. His semblance closed wounds and restored aura to the warboys, and he didn't miss that the injuries were getting less and less threatening as he worked through. The last room he was brought to was right next to the entrance, and contained the strangest thing he'd yet seen.

In a vase on a shelf cut in above the bed was a vase of flowers. Not flowers he had ever seen before, but in this land of sand and rock, where had somebody found flowers? The display was simple, a ring of some sort of red flower with vertically arranged petals that each had a large black nodule in the middle of them, with a long stem coming out of the middle with what looked like a big yellow pipecleaner on it.

The Meat Mechanic perked up immediately upon seeing it. His already irrepressible humour seemed to expand to fill the room as he rubbed his hands and looked down at the warboy sitting up in the bed.

“Well Bent, looks like somebody caught the attention of the wives!”

Bent just looked even more nervous then he already did, his eyes flicking between the flowers, the Meat Mechanic and Jaune. “Umm...”

“Don't worry kid, the Mothers know what they're doing, and they'll explain it all to the wife that picked you. Just relax, follow her lead and enjoy yourself. Oh, and enjoy the bath beforehand. Best part of the whole experience.”

“Hey, I remember you. You helped drag Ruby out of there. I haven't thanked you for that yet.” Jaune entered the conversation on what he was sure was a safe note, then had to reconsider when he saw the hand he was trying to shake. The two lower fingers curved over hard and wouldn't open. Bent saw where his gaze was and waved him off.

“Fell on it hard when I was but knee high to a grasshopper. Broke the fingers and they healed like that. Why did you think they called me Bent? Always happy to help.”

The Meat Mechanic busied himself with checking over bandages and for anything they had missed in the first crazy rush into the Spire.

“You're fine, everything's stopped bleeding and your aura is picking up the slack. You'll be right in another couple of hours. I'd spend it asleep, you're going to need your energy.”

And with that Jaune was pushed out of the room and out into the higher tunnels that made up the main passages. A warboy leaning on the pipework running along the wall straightened up when they came out, and the Meat Mechanic started talking at him.

“Boy, take Jauney here back to the garage, collect that other new guy in the funny green coat and take them to the barracks. They need some sleep.”

“But what about Ruby.” Jaune protested reflexively.

“She's fine, you know that, you fixed her yourself. Get some sleep.”

“I should be there when she wakes up.”

“And how am I going to tell you when she wakes up if I don't know where you are? Get going boy.” And a last shove propelled Jaune down the tunnel.

The warboy fell into step beside him, pointing down various almost exactly the same tunnels lit by strip lighting. Well, Jaune thought, time to collect his other best friend.

 

It wasn't that Blake didn't like children. She just liked them as more of an abstract concept, something that happened to other people. People like Yang, who was now letting one of them play with her hair. Nobody touched Yang's hair, and yet there they were, a set of tiny fingers pulling on it. The babies were even worse at picking up social cues then Ruby or Jaune dammit, how could they not see that she didn't want to be near them?

One of the older Mothers was better at reading people, and took pity on the woman with the black hair and the cat ears. She gathered the most inquisitive of the babies that was trying to undo Blake's shoelaces, dropped it into Yang's lap and pulled the faunus girl upright.

“Come with me girl. You look like you need a tour.”

Blake was escorted up even more flights of stairs. These were much nicer stairs then below, with regular slits for lighting and smoother surfaces. Around one last spiral they opened out to massive area, that must have been nearly the whole top of the Spire. It had been carved down to about 2 metres below the top of the rock, with support pillars left in it that held up massive iron screens separating it from the sky and everything that lived in it. The true wonder was the racks of plants hanging between the pillars. A hydroponic garden built in the sky, walled off from the Grimm. Each rack rotated slowly, lifting trays of plants up towards the sun while lowering the ones on the other side down towards irrigation trenches cut into the rock floor. The trenches all flowed outwards from the centre of the Spire, and it was towards the source that Blake was guided.

Not halfway there a voice called out over the clanks of the machinery moving the plant trays.

“And which of you is pestering me today?”

“Is that any way to speak to your Mother? I bring a guest.”

“I heard the footsteps, and you are not my Mother. We both know that.”

When the owner of the voice wandered into view from behind a set of rotating trays, Blake understood why. She used to think she knew black people, but the man here redefined the term. If he walked out of the sunlight, Blake was sure the only thing that would show would be the whites of his eyes.

“Mullyangah, this is Blake Belladonna. She was in the flyers you saw yesterday, she came back with the convoy sent to the Tower of the Lady of the Grimm.”

“Must be a warrior to rival Furiosa, first of her name, in that case. Sending her away from the wives to stop them getting ideas?”

“Hah. Keeping her out of the hands of the little ones. They're always bolder then they should be. Anyway, not my problem now. Have fun.”

The Mother that Blake had been following turned and walked off, leaving her with time to study the man she had just been left with. He was shorter then most of the warboys, and in contrast to their shaven skulls had a close-cropped shock of white hair. Despite the white hair, he was clearly young, no older the Blake herself. He didn't carry the scars that most of the warboys did, no decoration scratched or implanted into his body.

“The Mothers and Wives may be troublesome, but they run their lives like a well-oiled machine. You might as well follow me up here, I'm meant to be on Grimm lookout.”

Mullyangah showed her to the highest set of stairs in the Spire, a thin and sharply twisting staircase that was steep enough to be impossible to fight on. It only raised a single level, but at the top it opened into what must have been a show of wealth to rival the garage at the bottom of the spire and all it's vehicles. It was a low ceilinged geodetic dome which each triangular panel filled with actual glass, clear and perfect. The panels were small and thick to provide protection, but the view was still glorious. Or would have been, had their been anything but sand dunes to look at. And scattered around the edges were simple telescopes. No more then a set of glass lenses in a metal tube with a focusing eyepiece, when Blake put her eye to one she was still surprised by how much she could see.

“Welcome to the Eye. My eye, seeing as few others like the solitude up here. I'm guessing you have questions?”

Blake looked away from the telescope and at the young man, trying to work out how to word everything she wanted to know.

“Why am I black when everybody else is white? Well, why do you have an extra set of ears on your head?”

“No, people are different. You said something earlier about the Mothers and Wives running their lives. And every warboy is exactly that, a boy. Why are the genders split?”

“But no, you have to ask the hard questions. Look, you've had a look at plenty of the warboys, what do you think the average age is?”

“19 or 20?”

“No, it's 12. Only about half make it to 19, and it's very few that make it past 30. We live, we die, we live again, but the second death catches us too. Now, the second question. What's the one thing that you can do that a warboy absolutely cannot?”

Blake just cocked her head in a silent question.

“Give birth. One warboy can make Mothers out of many Wives, but one Wife cannot from many warboys. So the warboys live and die and live again to stand between the Grimm and the Mothers, because a Mother is worth more.”

Blake looked on in shock at Mullyangah, not from what he said, but at realisation at how close to annihilation those that lived in the Spire were.

“That might be changing soon. You killed the Lady of the Grimm, and they haven't been as vicious since. Not as co-ordinated”

“Salem. Her name was Salem.” said Blake, as she started to tell the story of what Ozpin had fought for so long against.

 

Oscar awoke to the voice in his head. Ozpin was getting louder and louder all the time, and Oscar knew it wouldn't be long until there wasn't two voices in his head, just the one. He had hoped that when Salem died, Ozpin would give up and move out, letting him go back to his life, what little of it was left after the years of terror and pain. Pain. Salem. His arm hurt. The arm that had been holding onto Salem when the light and the blade had hit.

Oscar jumped up on the rough pallet, the blanket falling away so he could see his arm. Or where his arm had been. It terminated just above where the elbow should have been, skin folded over and neatly stitched closed around two bolts that had been installed into the bones of his upper arm. He went to scream, but in his distraction Ozpin took over. The pain drifted away, minor now and he felt his mouth open and call “Qrow”. He called again, sounding far more composed then he felt, but then it wasn't him making the call. Footsteps answered.

A shock of hair came into view, around a face that was on top of a body covered in a bloodstained leather apron. He looked more like a butcher then anybody who deserved to be in a hospital.

“And the last one awakens! I'm the Meat Mechanic, and I must be better at my job then I thought because this is the first time everyone's survived. You're Oscar right?”

“Ozpin, and I will take your word for your skills. Could you please fetch Qrow for me?”

“Rightie-o. Be back soon.”

With that, Oscar staged a determined assault on his own mind, trying to get enough control back to chose what he looked at. Ozpin surrendered, but that brought the pain back as well. Everything below his missing elbow itched, even though it wasn't there to itch. The stitches pulled slightly with every breathe, cutting into already abused flesh. Then the worst of it was two points, where it felt like the bolts were still being hammered into the ends of the bones.

Sadly, none of this was really new to Oscar. It had been over a year since Ozpin had taken up real estate inside his head, and all that time had been an education in pain and terror. An education in plenty of other things as well, no other 14 year old could rival his vocabulary, but the pain and the terror stood out.

He wasn't in a room so much as a curtained off space. There was a wall of rock at his back, a pallet of what felt like straw over a metal frame that he was lying on, and thin woven sheets on the other three sides. Ozpin's voice was murmuring in his mind again, pointing out escape routes, potential weapons and weaknesses to exploit. Such as the fact that he had been left alone. His first attempt to get out of bed ran straight into a problem, that being that he was missing a hand. He went to grab the side of the bed, missed, slid sideways, jarred the wound and barely kept himself from screaming. All that experience with pain was paying off. But experience or not, he was still 14, and he curled up into a ball on the barely comfortable pallet and tried to shut out the world.

“Ozpin? Ozpin!”

He wasn't going to respond to that name. That wasn't him, that would never be him. But Ozpin had been waiting, and suddenly it was. He felt himself uncurl and straighten up, endless centuries of practice at good posture infusing him.

“Qrow, it is a relief to see you. Mayhaps you can fill me in on what has happened while I have been recovering, and why I am down an arm.”

“Nope. You first, you look terrible. And I don't mean the arm.”

“This body, is not coping as well as I would have hoped. It is strong, but will need some time to recover.”

Oscar raged against the cage that Ozpin had made in his mind. How dare his body be treated so impersonally? But Ozpin had been waiting and planning, and the cage held.

“The little boy in there trying to get out? Look, fine, not my problem. Let's get on to the things that are your problem. We're guests of some lady that calls herself Furiosa Violetta, we're stuck deep in the Grimmlands, the team is split up who knows where, the only surviving bullhead has been dragged back here and is being kept by these warboys and...” Qrow turned his flask upside down “I ran out of booze on the way here.”

Ozpin went to facepalm, and then discovered that he didn't have that palm anymore.

“Oh yeah, in the very small amount of good news, you're the worst injured.”

“Has anyone caused any irreparable harm yet?”

“I don't believe so.” Qrow started, then began to tick things off on this fingers, wrapping them back around his flask as they went down. “I haven't heard any explosions from Nora, Ruby is unconscious in a bed not far from here, Weiss hasn't frozen anyone or yelled about these people's aversion to shirts, Jaune helped patch up some of their injured and the worst I've done is dropped a mug onto somebody else's foot.”

“Just to confirm. You have not attempted to flirt with anybody?”

“No. Have you seen Violetta? She's intimidating. Which I admit is hot, and I'll probably get around to hitting on her once I'm not terrified and I have booze again.”

“Qrow. Be quiet. Go and wake Ruby, then gather the others. It is time I met this Furiosa.”

Qrow woke Ruby and sent her down after Ren and Nora. Then he found Jaune, and sent him back to Ozpin's room. Ren and Nora arrived soon after, with the news that Ruby was on her way up the Spire, following Weiss, Yang and Blake. Ozpin gathered his troops, leaning on his cane that Qrow produced and occasionally on Qrow as well as they made their way towards the Furiosa's throne. Ruby found Weiss buried in conversation and Yang buried in adorableness, then had to run up another set of stairs to go find Blake and wake her up from her sunlit nap. Then back down and by a miracle of timing arrived at the entrance to the throne room only just before Ozpin and Qrow. Qrow looked over everyone, and set the order of march and got all the weapons into obvious but non-threatening positions, then Ozpin tucked his cane under his damaged arm and strode into the room, his students fanning out behind him.

Furiosa Violetta rose as he entered, meeting the boy barely old enough to shave as an equal.

“Welcome to the Spire. You shall not want for water or shade for as long as it stands.”

“Your hospitality, and your rescue, are appreciated. We do however need to speak of what happens next. We have people we need to return to and little knowledge of where we are.”

“And you think we wouldn't help you return to where you came from? You think too little of us. If the flying machine we recovered will not take all of you, the War Rig will take you where you need to go.”

“And how would we pay you back for this?”

“You killed the Lady of the Grimm. The Grimm still hunt, but no longer do we face an intelligent enemy. How could we ever pay you back for giving us a future?”

Oscar could feel Ozpin's paranoia. Endless centuries of fighting had left their mark on his psyche, and the loss of Beacon and traitors within his own conspiracy had left him even less trusting then he had been. Oscar dug deep into what was left of himself, and fought against that. He showed Ozpin the memories of these people, the shows of respect they had given him, the work they had done to fix their wounds, the fact that the nine of them were allowed to wander freely within the Spire and were even allowed to keep their weapons on them in the presence of their leader. And Ozpin heard him. His stance loosened, he smiled and spoke with his pleasant father voice, rather then his talking to politicians voice.

“The death of Salem brings to end a war I have fought for far too long. I am still adjusting to not fighting it. Any further aid you can give us would be greatly appreciated.”

“If this is the end of a war, you need an event to mark it. A celebration. Imperator, get the main hall of the garage cleared.”

Imperator Karst's eyes lit up, and he moved smoothly around from his position behind the throne to beside but away from Furiosa Violetta.

“Right away Furiosa. Shall I arrange anything else?”

“Yes. Arrange everything else. We start as soon as you are prepared.”

Karst interlaced his fingers and bowed over them to the Furiosa, then practically burst past the hunters. His voice echoed clearly from out in the tunnels.

“Oi, you lot, stop slacking off. You, head down, get the rigs and vehicles moving into storage, we need the hall. You, go find the Metal Minstrel, tell him to haul arse down to the hall. You, kitchens. We're going to need a feast, or at least a feed. You, with me. We need to go tell the Mothers that we're having a B&S.”

The slapping sound of boots running on rock faded rapidly and Yang, who spoke fluent party, was openly smiling again. The Furiosa backed into her throne and practically fell into it, then waved at the metal stools in the room.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Someone will be up when things are nearly ready. Until then, we have a convoy to plan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this up straight away because the previous chapter really was just a prologue. Don't expect future chapters to be this large or this quick. I had 9 characters from the show to bring in, and 4 OC's I need to get started on introducing as well as a whole culture to start explaining.
> 
> Language Lessons: "Fair Dinkum" is classic Australian slang. It means true or correct. It's often used on it's own as a question or as a statement to confirm what you were previously saying was the truth. Considering how embedded lying is in Australian culture, it's an important term to have.  
> "Strewth" is an abbreviation of "God's Truth". It doesn't mean that a thing is true, it's used more as an expression of surprised disbelief.  
> "Goomblegubbon" is an actual word, not that many will know it. It comes from the Noongahburrah people of north-west Victoria and is their name for the Bush Turkey. So it's sort of an appropriate name for a bullhead.  
> "Mullyangah" is also a Noongahburrah word (I'll be using mostly Noongahburrah words, because I have a reference book for their language. There will be some Wiradjirui later) and it means Morning Star. Which is named for an Eagle (Mullyan) and a hilarious story about burning down a cannibal's house. Seemed like a good name for a spotter living in a glass house in the highest point of the Spire  
> "Squidgy-Didge" is not actually Australian. It's an invention by a USA comedian who used it to prove a point, but it's a combination of two existing pieces of slang. A Squizz is a look, and Ridgy-Didge is alright or correct. So a Squidgy-Didge is a check to see if everything is correct.  
> "Bonza" means good or great. Probably adopted mining slang from bonanza.
> 
> As before, comment section below. Abuse it (and me).


	3. Bachelors and Spinsters

While Yang was still unsure how “B&S” translated into “party”, it did translate into a decent one. The large open space around the massive lift that usually formed the garage was empty of vehicles, except for two long trailers parked on the far edge forming some sort of stage. Another trailer had been backed in with what looked like a sound engineers wet dream crossed with a roadie's nightmare bolted onto it. An absolutely absurd stack of amps and speakers with cables running back to the cab suggesting that the whole thing ran directly off the engine. In front of the speaker stack hung instruments on rubber bands, swaying slightly with the air moving in the hall.

From her spot right next to the stairs leading up towards the Furiosa's throne, she saw the buffet table get dragged into the hall. Like everything else made here it was mounted on wheels, and she was slightly surprised that it didn't have it's own engine. Not that watching the muscles move on the backs of the Warboys pulling it was a bad thing. Nora was asking Ren if there were pancakes under the long dust cloth covering the table. The size of that table, there could be pancakes for everybody on it. Yang did some quick numbers in her head, and realised what was missing.

It wasn't long after she did that they arrived. Yang, Nora and Ren were chased away from the bottom of the stairs, and the Mothers made an _entrance_. The first few through the archway were clearly the older, there as chaperones. They were still done up, hair plaited and woven with coloured ribbons, bodies covered in wispy, flowing garments of white cloth. Behind them where the Wives. Similar dress, if anything even less conservative. Instead of single pieces of cloth covering the whole body, most of them wore two pieces, one bound tight around the breasts, the other loose and flowing around the legs. And they kept coming. There had been around a hundred Warboys in the hall, Yang lost count at 150 Wives. Then she realised that there must still be more not here, looking after the children not old enough to come. The line of Wives ended with the Furiosa herself, dressed not in flowing cloth like the others, but in black leather combat armour and black warpaint. As everyone else gathered in a rough circle around the trailer stage, she leapt straight upon it in an aura-powered leap. The clang of her boots upon the metal silenced the rest of the hall.

“Not two days before, my Imperator, Karst, led a convoy of twenty to the Tower of the Grimm. Flying vehicles had been seen heading to the tower, and we judged it worth the risk to find out why. Four did not return, and their passing is Witnessed.”

A murmur of “witness” echoed around the hall. Furiosa Violetta let it pass before she continued.

“But the rest returned with people, with prizes, and with news. The Lady of the Grimm is dead, thrown from her Tower and pinned to the ground by bodies and blades. For this we have Ozpin and his team to thank. They will be treated with greatest respect for what they have given us, and in time we shall return them to the lands they came from.”

Qrow had grabbed Oscar under his arms at the mention of Ozpin's name and raised him into the air. When everybody had noticed this, Qrow lowered Oscar down so that he could sit on Qrow's shoulders, able to see and be seen by everybody.

“But today they are here, and today we celebrate with them. There will be food, there will be entertainment and there will be company. Enjoy.”

With her final words, the covers were swept off the tables revealing bowels and trays of fairly plain food. Cooked lentils, vegetables and hard bread. The locals descended on the food in a first pass free-for-all, grabbing trenchers of bread and loading them with other food. Yang grabbed Ruby's hand, while Qrow lowered Oscar to the ground and raced for the barrels tucked under the tables in the middle. The look of betrayal on his face when he found out it was just water was something that would have been worth a photo of.

As the rush on the food began to slow, those that had found something to eat separated and arranged themselves around the walls. Pairs and triplets of wives were engaging warboys in conversation while the team of hunters closed ranks and tried to work out what was going on. The Furiosa and Imperator approached them, but it was he that spoke.

“This is as much in your honour as it is in mine. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Well, my sister here is great at stabbing Grimm, but not so good with people. What's the protocol for one of these?” Yang slapped Ruby's back as she spoke.

“Yang! That really hurts when you use your metal arm.”

“We eat, we talk. This is one of the few chances for the Wives and the Warboys to meet in an equal setting. We'll have a performance from those who can play instruments which moves into dancing, and then we give up when people start to fall down.”

Yang perked up at the mention of dancing, but Ruby's eyes were drawn back to the stack of speakers. She was fairly certain that the instrument in front was a guitar, but she wasn't sure why it had axe blades coming out of it. An axe that was also a guitar was pretty cool, but it wasn't as cool as Crescent Rose. Except maybe it was, because now Crescent Rose was broken and she hadn't even seen the pieces and... Yang slapped her again

“C'mon, you're brooding. We're here to have fun and meet people. Like that guy over there, he's the one that helped drag you off Salem's corpse.”

“How do you know it's him? They all look the same in that white paint.” Ruby was pouting, but not actually against the idea.

“It's all about the scars. See, that guy's got two busted fingers on his left hand, he's the one. Quick, now we need to get to him before anyone else does.”

Yang practically dragged Ruby across the room to the Warboy she had pointed out, and started the introductions as soon as he looked up at them.

“Hi, I'm Yang, this is Ruby. I'm here to thank you for pulling her out of the battle earlier.”

“DoyouhaveanyideawhathappenedtoCrescentRose?”

Bent interlaced his fingers in the v-sign, bowed slightly over it towards the huntresses, and then straightened and looked quizzically at the younger.

“She's talking about her weapon. Big blade, black and red, last seen stuck in Salem's chest.” Yang gestured towards her own chest as she said this.

“Losing a weapon is like losing part of yourself. The pieces were recovered and last I saw my wheelman was taking them. You would have to ask him.”

A flash of rose petals and Ruby was off towards the Warboy that Bent had indicated, a shorter then usual one marked by a pair of long scars down his right arm.

“So weapons are important to you as well. What do you fight with?” This was a party, and to Yang, parties meant flirting. It was time to get started.

 

Ruby stopped with only a small amount of crashing into her target. She really was getting much better at that. And it got his attention too, perfect.

“HiIheard you know what happened to Crescent Rose.” Ruby forced herself to slow down as she spoke, but it was hard. She was so close to getting her baby back.

“And it's good to see you amoung the land of the living again. What's Crescent Rose?” He turned back to the wife he had been speaking with “This is one of those I rescued from the Tower. She was found holding the remains of the blade that killed the Lady”

“That's what I'm after.” Ruby interrupted “My weapon, it's name is Crescent Rose. Where did it go?”

“I left the bag with all the pieces in the fine materials workshop. It's got a bench to itself at the moment, but it's beyond any of us to repair. You should be thinking about replacing it with something simpler.”

“Simpler!? I won't accept anything less the glorious sniper/scythe combination that is Crescent Rose! I built it once, I can build it again. Take me to it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“This is a B&S, it's not going to be here for long. Crescent Rose will be there tomorrow morning. Stick round, say hello, enjoy the show.”

In spite of herself, Ruby started to relax. It wasn't like she had needed to stab anyone for... However long it had been since she'd stabbed Salem actually.

“Shall we start then?” the warboy asked “I'm Tarmac, this is Beat and Cide” he said, gesturing to the two wives that had been talking to him.

“Oh. I'm Ruby. I'm a huntress from Beacon and I'm here with Yang and Qrow. I have the coolest scythe but I can't show it to you because it's currently in pieces and...”

“No, Tarmac already said the weapon is off limits.” said the taller of the two wives. Ruby wasn't sure which, she hadn't really been paying attention to names “Happier topics. You've seen our home” she said, gesturing around her to the rock walls “so what is Beacon like?”

“Beacon's not my home, it's a school. It teaches people to be Huntsmen and Huntresses. It's on top of a hill overlooking Vale, the biggest city in the Kingdom of Vale” Ruby was off, trying to use her hands to sketch the world she knew in the air and share it with her new friends.

She was trying to work out how to explain the number of people who lived in Vale to three people who probably knew the name of every person living in the Spire when there was a blast of noise out of the speaker stack. Every face turned towards it, conversations dying and hands reaching for weapons that weren't there. The man standing on the centre of the stage waved his arms in an apology, tatters of a red shirt flapping with his arm movements. He grabbed the guitar in front of him, adjusted some of the strands it was bouncing on and when happy plucked each string in order to test them. Then he did something, Ruby wasn't sure what, and the end of the guitar let loose a wave of flame. Her eyes widened, reflecting the last of the fading flames and she started to squeal.

“It's a guitar that's also an axe that's also a flamethrower! This is the fourth coolest weapon ever. Did you see that!”

“When the Metal Minstrel rides with us, he needs some way of keeping the Grimm off.” explained Tarmac. “He hasn't ridden out for over a generation, but we all know the stories of the Fall of Immortan Joe, first and last of his line.”

Ruby turned back to the stage when a low rumbling sound filled the room. There were two others on the stage, and one of them was blowing into a decorated wooden pipe that was almost as tall as Ruby. The sound reverberated weirdly, not fitting into what she was used to thinking of as music, but deep and soothing all the same. The last man on the stage started beating time on a hide drum and then the Metal Minstrel joined in, picking notes in a counterpoint to the rumbling.Ruby felt she could have listened to it for hours, if it didn't send her to sleep.

“This seems quiet for a party?” she asked.

“This for the background, something to appreciate by that you can still talk over.”

“Once all the food's gone the Mothers will take over and start calling the dances. That's when it gets loud.”

“Dancing? Do I have to wear heels?” Ruby rapidly went back to panicking

“Heels? A heel is part of your foot. How would you wear one? On a chain like some morbid necklace?”

Ruby relaxed again, sure that any form of dancing that didn't involve heels had to be better then what she was used to.

 

As soon as they were given implicit permission by Yang running off with Ruby, the others had scattered. Qrow a kept just enough of an eye on them to make sure he knew where they were, while putting most of his attention into keeping Ozpin from talking to people. Hearing a man with a thousand years of life experience talk out of the body of a 14 year old never went down well. That was his excuse why the two Mothers managed to get within stabbing distance and he was sticking with it.

“Well hello, you look out of place here. Are you the one that can't fight so they left you in charge of the child?”

“Child?” Ozpin started to speak with Oscar's voice. Qrow put a swift stop to that by dropping a hand onto his head and ruffling his hair.

“I can fight as well as anyone in this room. The kid's a prodigy, going to be almost unbeatable given time. I'm here training him to make sure he gets there.”

“Looking at you, I'd say you fight better then anybody in the room. Probably on a level with the Madman himself.”

Qrow couldn't stop himself from preening at the praise, but there were many things in that sentence that bothered him.

“The Madman? Tall thin guy, had the tail of a scorpion?”

“No, not one of the servants of the Lady...”

“Good, because I killed him. Proof that I'm better.”

“The Madman rode with Furiosa, first of her name. His blood powered Nux, who drove the War Rig on the day that Immortan Joe became last of his name. He was the oldest ever to fight here, and you look almost as old as he was said to be.”

Ozpin carefully did not smother his snigger at Qrow's reaction to being called old.

“Old? I'll have you know I'm still as fast and strong as I was when I was young!”

“I don't doubt it. The oldest Warboy here is half your age. A man doesn't fight and survive for as long as you have without being good at it.”

Qrow's ego was rapidly recovering.

“And a life as long as yours must have collected many stories. Why not share some of them with us?”

Ozpin waited very carefully until Qrow took a swig from his flask, an automatic reaction even though it contained only water.

“Uncle Qrow, I think she's flirting with you.”

It had been worth the wait. Qrow's eyes bulged, his cheeks expanded as he tried not to spit the mouthful of water over a pretty woman and only his long experience with drunkenness and vomiting allowed him to keep everything together. He shook, sputtered, swallowed and then smiled. Grinning broadly enough to swallow the room, Qrow launched into a tale of fights, flirting and outright fabrication to rival anything that Professor Port had ever claimed.

 

Nora had decided she was bored. Only slightly bored, there were so many people here she hadn't met before and they were talking about all sorts of things she had never heard of before, but that was part of the problem. In all the new, she couldn't work out what she was supposed to be doing. Other then standing next to Ren, but that was what she always did. For something that was supposed to be a party, there wasn't a lot of party going on. Even the music was dull and boring, though it had started to speed up with the last song and now somebody was taking away the buffet table. Which hadn't even had any pancakes on it.

Ren laid a hand on her arm. No semblance yet, but he always knew when she was getting restless. It was like a sixth sense. A Ren-sense. She turned to look at him, and he nodded back towards the stage, where the Metal Minstrel was finishing up, the last chords and echoes fading away. The three bowed to the audience, walked off the stage and dispersed into the crowd. They were replaced by a group of wives and mothers, bringing stringed instruments with them. One stood without an instrument, and she took the place right at the front of the stage.

“Glorious day, Wives and Warboys!” Her voice projected clearly across the whole room, practice giving it a power that few could rival without shouting. “I am the Caller for this evening, and we're nearly ready to start. Find yourselves a partner and form a line facing me.” Hand gestures accompanied the words, sweeping over the room and joining in front of her to show what she wanted.

Nora looked at Ren and grabbed his hand. Dancing was always exciting, and Ren was good at it too.

“If you're new, sit this one out, we'll get to you later in the evening. Watch and learn.”

Nora pouted as Ren held her back.

“Let's do what she says. There's plenty of time to join in once we know what they are doing.”

The largest of the strings started up a simple pattern, as the line formed up. Once the last of the couples had added themselves to the far end, the rest of the band joined in and the line moved forward and split off in couples in an obviously practiced motion. Starting from the back of the hall the pairs joined up into groups of eight, settling into squares. The Caller gave them a handful of beats to settle into position, and then just started talking.

The words pattered out, falling into time with the beat, rhymes thrown in as if at random, and the squares started to move. Each person seemed to know exactly what to do, moving and dodging around each other in synchronisation. White skirts flared as their wearers skipped and twirled, hobnails struck sparks as black boots stamped time. And through it all the squares remained, partners finding each other again after each movement. Nora was amazed, this looked far more fun then what she had been expected to do at the ball.

“Ren, Ren, we need to learn how to do this. We need...”

Ren silenced her with a finger over her lips and counted time in his head again.

“I think they're just following instructions. She just called promenade, so they should, yes there they go, each stands next to their partner and walks around the circle.”

Now that Ren had pointed it out, Nora could see it, the way the dancers responded to things that the caller said. But only some of them, buried in the endless stream of words. She was turning to Ren to ask him which words were important when she noticed he had started to move his feet, trying to internalise what he was seeing. Nora turned back to the dancers, focusing on the set closest to her and picking out the repeated movements that she would have to copy later.

She thought she had a few of them worked out when the Caller came to a sudden stop and the music faded out. Once everybody had stopped moving, the Caller's voice boomed out over the silence.

“Now bow to your corner-boy, and bow to your partner. Take your places again. And for those of you just watching, pay attention this time. We'll be doing this dance again later.”

The deepest of the strings rolled out over the crowd again, and the Caller's voice rose in counterpoint, singing a tale of the founding of the Spire and the discovery of the spring at it's base. Woven into and through the tale were a series of calls that Nora found much easier to pick out this time. They repeated more often, and there was far less variety in the steps that the dancers flowed through. When the refrain came around for the third time, Nora was confident she could have followed the pattern. With a final line about the addiction of water, the song ended and the bows were called again. Then the dancers dispersed, going back for drinks or rejoining those who had not been able to find a partner. The disparity between the Wives and Warboys stood out again now that Nora was not distracted by the dancers, as all of the figures that had been standing at the edges were either very young, or were women. When they started to mingle again, gathering around men that didn't currently have anyone talking to them, Nora took a half step sideways and wrapped herself around Ren's arm. Ren was dancing with her, not with anybody else.

Not that her possessiveness kept them entirely separate from everyone else. Two girls who could not be more then fifteen joined them and looked embarrassed while Nora glared at them, but didn't leave. Ren was more forgiving.

“And what brings you two to join us? Do you have questions?”

“No! No, it's just...”

“Boys are weird. And she's already got hold of your arm, so you wouldn't want to dance with either of us, but we look like we're trying and one of the Mothers isn't going to come over and force us to talk to somebody else.”

Nora brightened immediately. Ren took it as a chance to satisfy his curiosity.

“Then I have questions. Nora is going to want to dance the next chance we have, can you talk us through the steps and the words?”

Nora elbowed him for the blatantly false implication that he didn't want to dance. The two girls didn't look any more relaxed, but turned to look towards the Caller as the couples started to form the squares again. When the music started, both of them recognised it.

“Oh, this is the fast one. This is going to get loud and messy.”

Where previously calls had been wrapped in patter and song now they came fast and alone, barely time for each motion to be completed before the next started. Clearly the previous two dances had been warm ups, and Nora was worried that at this speed she wasn't going to be able to get everything right. When she mentioned this, both girls were quick to reassure her.

“This is the only one at this speed. It's a challenge for all of us.”

“See, that warboy there just led with the wrong hand, see how the wife has to dodge around him but they've gotten back into the rhythm? Making mistakes is fine.”

“That is reassuring, but still we want to make as few mistakes as possible. Talk us through what is happening please.” Ren's calm voice brought them back onto track.

The girls enjoyed the teaching role, explaining how the squares moved and how to count the beat for the dances, then moving on to the simple steps and getting Nora and Ren to practice some. When the song ended and changed to another ballad, this one a religious tale of the source of all the sand that surrounded the Spire, they got the pair to try and keep up with the slower song. It worked until Nora found herself distracted trying to work out how she would kill a lizard so big that it's discarded skin could form all the sand in the world. She was dragged out of the pleasant distraction by Ren's grip on her hand and she looked up to see the couples dispersing again. The Caller was speaking again.

“I hope you all enjoyed that, it's downhill from here. Anyway, if those of you who are new or still learning would come up, we're going to redo the Tale of the Spire. Hope you were paying attention last time.”

Nora smiled back at Ren, and dragged him towards the front of the line.

 

Blake had managed to stay out of the dancing for the whole event. It wasn't hard when couples needed opposite genders and there were more women. She'd quite enjoyed watching, particularly when she spotted Qrow who had been dragged into a square and was making a fair accounting of himself with trained reactions, but clearly had not been paying attention to the steps in earlier dances. She had tried to talk to the others who had been not able to find partners, but there was so little in common between their lives that they quickly ran out of things to talk about. Her ears were commented on often, not because the people had anything against faunus, just that they hadn't seen one before. The open curiosity and repeated questions were almost as bad. And of all the things to take on a suicide mission to the far end of Remnant, books had not been high on the list so she couldn't even fall back on her normal pastime.

With the finish of a dance, Weiss came to find her.

“So, we survived.” Weiss stated. Blake just looked at her, so Weiss continued.

“It doesn't seem quite real yet. The fight that cost me the last two years of my life and many of my friends is over and we are at a party. I'm trying to relax, but every time I catch myself reaching for my weapon again.”

“I know how you feel. I went through it before with my first semester at Beacon, always looking over my shoulder for Adam or wondering when somebody would find out about the ears. And then you did, and we all got over it, but I was just so used to panicking I just kept doing it even though I didn't have to.”

“So it gets better?”

“I'm not sure I'd say that. You just find new things to panic about. But then you relax from one of those and discover that you've forgotten to panic about the things you used to panic about. Then there's a few glorious moments of peace, usually broken by Ruby or Yang opening their mouths.”

That got a giggle from Weiss, and started a relaxing conversation about what was the first thing they were going to buy when they returned to civilisation. The argument was settled when Weiss pointed out that a hotel room would include a shower, so they would effectively be buying cleanliness.

Ruby joined them soon after, dragging Juane with her. Qrow collapsed near them, sitting down and looking for all the world like sobriety was making him drunk. Nora still looked excited, but Ren was talking her down, and they and Yang arrived at about the same time. Ozpin was the last to join, standing over them and still looking fresh.

“Now people, off to bed. We leave tomorrow and I need you all rested for a run through the Grimmlands back to the coast.”

“Sod off shortstack” muttered Qrow.

“Now Qrow, respect your elders.”

Qrow's next comment was quieter and ruder. Ozpin didn't respond to it.

A warboy with a familiar crooked left hand came up behind Ozpin and bowed to him. Juane recognised him and bowed back.

“Bent was it? It's good to see you up and about again.”

“It was only a flesh wound. Now if the four of you would follow me, I will get you set up in the barracks again.”

“Certainly my boy. Get up Qrow, I'm sure that you are not still hungover.” Ozpin fell back into his leader role, arranging the male part of the group to follow Bent out. The rest of them were not left alone for very long, with the Mother that Blake recognised from her trip to the top of the Spire appearing as soon as Bent was out of sight and gestured for all of them to follow her.

“Come on, it's been a long day. You've all got beds waiting for you.”

Blake hadn't heard anything sound so good for a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons: The only new thing here is B&S, which is the normal abbreviation for a Bachelors and Spinsters Ball. In rural areas of Australia they are the only time the farmers get together to meet each other, and are usually famous for drunken debauchery. City people like to talk as if country people don't know anything about sex, but remember that if you raise livestock your livelihood relies on getting things to have sex.
> 
> But also, Square dancing. It's not as common as I would like it to be, but it made a good choice for the ball rather then any formal or individualistic style. It's also easy, and it's perfectly possible to pick up a beginner's square dance after seeing it once with no previous experience. I've deliberately avoided putting actual calls in, because that would just be confusing for those of you who don't know what's going on. Also, calling a square dance is a nightmare. You're like the master of ceremonies at a formal event except you also have to sing and keep track of the dancing.
> 
> The female band is Lady Stabbitha and the Knifey Wifeys, but I couldn't work out how to put that in the chapter. Yes, that's a real Australian band. They play death metal rather then country however.
> 
> Current plan is to keep updating this on Wednesday mornings, my time.


	4. Country Drivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually put language lessons first, but you'll need this for everything to make sense. Onside and Offside for vehicles are based on the side that the operator/driver is sitting. The side closest is the Onside, the side further away is the Offside. It is commonly used with heavy equipment where approaching from the onside is a vital part of working safely around them.
> 
> Also, this chapter has a soundtrack. Road Train by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, last track on the album Nonagon Infinity. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ee0y_OAQ4o

Tarmac idly stood and tapped the steering wheel against his leg. The sun had risen long ago and only the dark oil circles around his eyes kept the glare off the sands from being blinding. They had started early, but it wasn't a quick process to bring the War Rigs down and the escorts needed for this run. He'd been told to expect a 28 hour trip at an easy cruise, which meant packing food and water, extra Dust for the engines and working out rotations for wheelmen. The first of the Rigs was being lowered now, the flying machine of the visitors loaded onto the back along with anything that might be worth more to the people who had built the flying machine then it was to them. There had been stories about other people of course, but Tarmac had always assumed they had died out to the Grimm long ago.

A familiar black face and shock of grey hair hopped off the platform once it got close enough to the ground and walked straight to where Tarmac was leaning against his twin-cab ute.

“Hey Mully. What you doing out of your bird's nest?”

“The Furiosa said I was riding with you.” Mullyangah flicked a dufflebag over the side of the tray and let it drop in. “I figure I'll spend the trip up a scout pole, maybe get some sleep.”

“Yeah nah mate, didn't you hear? 28 hour run off to some place the visitors say is there. Scuttlebutt is that it's got more water then the eyes can see.”

“I'll believe it when these eyes see it. I heard it's a long run and the Furiosa told me to take everything I owned, that's why I brought the bag.”

“Oh yeah? What's in it?”

“Me other pair of pants.”

Tarmac waved Mullyangah off, and went back to scanning the growing accumulation of vehicles. The lift was on it's way back up, and the outriders were checking over vehicles. Several motorbikes were already spread out roughly in the positions they would keep as the convoy moved, while others were being strapped into the drop ramps on the back of a pair of long-trayed utes. Tarmac had seen the riders get those bikes back down the ramps at cruising speed, and even for a Warboy with their second life awakened it was a crazy stunt. But then, only the Wives and Mothers still in the Spire had the privilege of remaining sane. His own ute was sitting just off the front on-side of the War-Rig, place of privilege covering the Rig-man's own door. His twincab had lancer's perches on both the front and the back, a roobar decorated with antennas and spikes giving a place to stand at the front and a pair of stands welded to the tailgate gave something to hang on to and rack spears on out the back. A bar ran from the back offside over the cab and bent down to the roobar, forming part of the rollcage and giving the lancer something to hold on to when swapping front to back. Not that he had a lancer yet today. Usually Bent rode with him, but he hadn't seen Bent since the dance. More tapping of the wheel against his leg, more waiting.

The lift was on it's way back down again, carrying the last of the vehicles. And there, pride of place in the middle, was The War Rig. Oh, anything with torque enough to haul a trailer on a turntable hitch could be called a War Rig, but this was the one that the stories were told about. Tarmac could remember being 12 and on his back under it, tiny hands moving delicate components as the floor boss told the tales of it's rides. Emblazoned across the roobar was it's name, Nux. Said to have been placed there by Furiosa, first of her Name herself.

This day, spots of colour were on top of it, the outfits of the visitors standing out from the black, rust and sand that coloured everything else. The smaller red one was excitedly pointing everywhere, while the two with yellow hair either side tried to hold her back from running off. The trailer behind it was a marvel of engineering, the pride of the latest generation of the Spire Warboys. Long enough to hold two utes, wide enough to walk around them and with ramps and a lowered section underneath, it was a mechanic's workshop on tri-axles. It was empty at the moment, but skillful use of it allowed the whole convoy to drive straight through the night, vehicles rotating onto it for refueling and driver changes. They were going to need that to make the trip in 28 hours.

Wandering off the back of the platform when it touched down was Bent. At least, Tarmac thought it was Bent. He looked different. When he got close enough, it all made sense.

“Strewth mate! You're clean. What happened to the protective layer of dust?”

“Had an invite from the Wives. It's been a long night.”

“Heh. Dump your bag in the tray and crash out on the back seat. I'll poke you if anything you need to deal with comes up.”

Bent grunted his assent, and folded himself in through where the back window should have been. The back doors may have opened once, but welding the rollcage bars across them had stopped that.

Nux rolled off the platform, Imperator Karst standing on the onside foot rail and directing the convoy to form up. Mully jogged back from where he had been talking to another wheelman.

“All the scout poles are taken. You still got room for a lancer?”

Bent's gentle snores echoed inside the ute.

“Sounds like I do. Hop in the back, give me a hand to strap this stuff down. Just like old times mate.”

 

Critty stood on the upper walkway round the Wheeled Workshop. He'd helped build this part, and he was quite sure of his welds. When they'd come up with this as an idea, none of the blacktounges had expected it to actually roll. But it had, and here they were getting to take it on the longest run they'd ever heard of. This was a story, and he was standing on it and next to it.

The black-haired woman he was standing next shaded her eyes with one hand, the other held the rail. Critty just rode out the swaying of the trailer with habits built from long practice. He tapped a shoulder with the back of his hand, and then pointed upwards when she turned to look at him. Her eyes followed his arm to where Furiosa Violetta was standing. She stood openly on a balcony overlooking the assembled Warboys, daring the Grimm to come and get her. He voice boomed through artificial enhancement.

“Not two days before, you returned to me, and now I send you out again. You ride beyond the horizon to a story we thought myth. You go to write a history beyond anything since the Founding of the Spire. Fight hard, return soon. By your deeds you honour him.”

Every Warboy bowed their heads over their interlaced fingers and echoed “we honour him.” Then Karst slapped the roof of Nux 3 times, and started waving his free arm. The workshop shuddered under Critty as the twin engines under the bonnet of Nux came up to speed and the clutch engaged. Nux followed the other War Rig out of the smaller hills that surrounded the base of the Spire, and the other vehicles fell into escort formation as the bigger rigs found cruising speed.

Critty hadn't been out of the Spire before. A bad blacktounge was just as quick at salvaging and temporary repairs so one of his skill was more useful in the Spire then on the road. But when the Furiosa spoke, all listened, and the Furiosa had said he was going. It wasn't bad he supposed, kind of boring. He had expected to see Grimm almost straight away, but it was just the hard packed dry clay that surrounded the Spire and terrain that he had seen before. The company was new, which in a place where you knew everybody by name made a nice change. Now if only they'd say something.

Two of the bikers covering the back offside of the convoy amused themselves by ramping off a hard packed dune that they had clearly known was there. A Warboy balancing on the end of a pole mounted to one of the tailing utes held up a sign with the number three on it. The resulting argument involving something about bias and corruption in judging was stolen away by the wind. The sigh of the blond haired one, Yang, wasn't.

“I miss my bike.”

“They let you ride?” Critty asked.

“Dad was against it at first. Something about how motorbikes were deadly, then I reminded him that he was training me fight the Grimm.”

“Wouldn't fighting be safer on the bike? Give you more mobility? Not that the Warboys out there fight from the bikes, their job is distractions and recovering any of us that fall off.”

“We fight on foot. There's always a town to defend or a pass to clear. Always something that keeps you in place.”

Yang flicked her eyes to the black-haired one as she said that. The reaction was the flick of an ear, and a sigh.

“I came back Yang. I followed you on this quest halfway around the world and yet you still mock me?”

“Well yes, it's funny. If I was actually upset I wouldn't talk to you at all.”

“That might be preferable.”

“Hey” Critty bravely interrupted. “No fighting. You'll draw the Grimm and I don't want to spend all of this trip bashing things.”

Yang stuck her tounge out at Blake. Blake made a grab for it, but Yang ducked out of the way of the blow she knew was coming.

“Hah, no kitty's going to get this tounge” she started to mock, then missed her footing on the thin walkway and fell backwards into the central space. A clang and an “I'm ok.” drifted up. Blake laughed a few times and turned back to face the dessert passing by. Critty judged the jump, then threw himself over to the onside walkway where Ren and Nora were standing. Ren may not have liked him last time they met, but at least he wouldn't be expected to stand between two fighters.

Nora was excitedly babbling, finding shapes and animals in the passing dunes. Ren nodded along in agreement. Critty made the mistake of pointing out that what she said was a sloth was clearly a dingo trying to eat a snake. The resulting argument ranged over topics as varied as the rill angle of sand to geographical distribution of species. Ren regularly had to translate between the two combatants, and would have welcomed any distraction.

The first distraction came some 4 hours out. The lead offside vehicle dropped back through the convoy, rapid hand signals flashing between it's lancer and the spotter on the front of Nux. The wheelman got his ride lined up with the back of the trailer, and the ramps were dropped.

The trailing edge of the ramps kicked up dust where they scraped on the clay, obscuring them. The wheelman didn't hesitate, lining himself up with the stands on the outside of the trailer and drove straight up into the workshop. A feather of the clutch as the drive wheels came onto the ramp let them match to the speed of the trailer. Brakes grabbed as he rolled to the far end of the trailer, then the engine died and doors flew open. Critty dropped straight down into the lowered walkway, knees bending to absorb the blow and he started to check over the drive shaft and axles. Nothing should have gone wrong, but something always could. Above him another blacktounge was running a hose from the big dust tanks at the head of the trailer, and the wheelman and two lancers that had been riding in it were handing over to three others that pulled themselves out of the cab.

They could have done it faster, but the whole process was new, and the blacktounges congratulated themselves on getting the whole thing over with in half an hour. Of course, as soon as the first was off the boards, the next was lining up to come on. They'd have to repeat this every 4 to 6 hours to keep the convoy running particularly because they didn't have enough Warboys with them to run two teams for every vehicle.

 

The sun was down and Bent was up. Having slept most of the afternoon he was probably the most awake of anyone in the convoy, and was enjoying his regular spot on the front lancer's perch. Wind whipped over his exposed skin, and little flecks of sand poked at his eyes. They had transitioned from the clay pans into a gibber plain, the surface rocks hiding sand that they kicked up with their travel. Mully had taken his spot on the back seat and was snoring away like a chainsaw while Tarmac tapped idly on the wheel and tried to steer them around half-seen obstacles in the dark.

A flicker of light from his left made him turn to the two War Rigs they were escorting. Massive lights shone out of the front of them, but it was a light on top of Nux that had caught his eye. He watched the flashes for a bit, then slapped the roof of the ute and held himself upside down on the rollcage so he could stick his head in the offside window.

“Tarmac, workshop's calling. It's our turn for fuel.”

Tarmac nodded and adjusted mirrors, tracking the other vehicles and picking his line back through the convoy. Bent pulled with the foot hooked into the roobar and got himself back onto the perch at the front. Another vehicle came past on the onside, swapping it's spotlights on as it took the onside front position. Tarmac dropped back all the way to the end of the convoy through the gap the others left for him, then swung over behind Nux and lined up with the ramps. Bent pulled his neck cloth up over this mouth and nose, cutting out the dust from the dragging ramps. Seconds later they were stopped inside the workshop, the engine sputtering to a halt. Mully woke up immediately in the sudden quiet.

Tarmac just about fell out of the onside door, then straightened up and started to run through leg stretches. Mully slithered out of the rear window, eyes flicking over the far horizon. Bent lept straight onto the roof of Nux, and went back to looking at the horizon. A swinging spotlight from an offside vehicle shone of a patch of dust in the distance. Then it snapped back, and white bone could be seen moving in front of the dust.

“GRIMM!”

The shout came from several places at once, but the noise and size of the convoy meant there was no way even the loudest voice could be heard. Bent grabbed the warboy on top of Nux who had signaled him earlier, and shook him back to awareness. One look at the approaching dust cloud, now with two spotlights focused on it, and he was banging on the roof of Nux's sleeper cab and starting up the warning lights. Two rotating orange beacons lit up, the offside one rotating faster to show which side the danger was coming from. The first face came out from the cab, and Bent reached down to grab an arm and hauled the warboy out onto the top platform. The new guy immediately turned and hauled the next out as Bent dropped back into the workshop.

Tarmac was already back behind the wheel, and Mullyangah was strapping another bundle of spare spears onto the racks in the tray. Critty was yelling through a window, trying to get them moving even faster. The first of the visitor's heads was visible on top of the sleeper cab just as Tarmac threw the gearbox into reverse and dropped his vehicle out of the back of the workshop as fast as he could. Even before he had the front wheels back on the ground, the hydraulics that powered the ramps were contracting, sealing the workshop off.

The whole convoy had changed shape in response to the warning lights. The onside vehicles had tightened up, sitting close to the War Rigs in the centre and leaving room to swap sides should they need to fight. The trailing vehicles had all swung wide and dropped even further back, lights picking out the edges of the pack. Motorbikes buzzed the near and back edges of the pack, trying to distract the leading members or break an opening. The offside vehicles, bolstered by the two lead vehicles had formed a staggered line between the pack and the Rigs, leaving enough room that they were not traveling in each other's dust, but close enough that anything weaving between could be hit from both sides. Tarmac flattened the accelerator, and the battle disappeared behind Nux as he tore up the onside of the convoy, heading for his original spot. As soon as he came up beside the vehicle that had replaced his pride of place spot, the other vehicle swung across the front of the convoy and dropped speed to join the staggered line.

The first of the Grimm reached the line. Beowolves adapted from desert Dingoes rather then forest wolves, they were thinner but faster, bigger haunches allowing for bigger leaps as it ran. But Warboys had been killing them for generations, and a spear rammed into it's front-right shoulder as it tried to get in front of the line of targets. A paw slipped, then it recovered and took another bound. In response, the red dust crystal strapped behind the spearhead cracked and detonated. The shoulder broke open and down a limb it slipped and fell. It's still living body was used as a ramp by the next in line who leapt for the lancer that had thrown the spear. It landed on another spear for it's trouble, the shaft cracking under the impact before the head could be driven out of the back of the body. It fell onto the lancers perch and fastened jaws around the lancer's head before the spearhead blew a hole in it's chest. The other lancer had to swap perches to roll the body off and rescue his friend.

As the pack split to try and work around the defensive line, their run turning from a sprint at the convoy to a jog alongside, the vehicles at the back sped up to box them in. They made easy targets from behind, and any that tried to turn and face the new attacker was simply left behind, head swinging in surprise as it watched wheels spin past on either side.

The pack began to thin, corpses strung out behind the direction of travel. Grimm didn't care for their own losses however, and they had been killing Warboys for just as long as Warboys had been killing them. Bigger Grimm that had been covered in the centre of the pack drew alongside the vehicle in the middle of the defensive line, and a black, manlike shape let go of the spines on it's back and jumped the short distance, viciously clawed hand digging into the rollcage to draw it onto the vehicle proper.

“They've got Ngyarnyamalku” said Mullyangah. “I was hoping they wouldn't work together any more after the Lady fell.”

Once it was on the lancer's perch the spears were no use against it, and the lancer was wrestling it, struggling against a foe smaller, stronger and more flexible them himself. It caught both arms, and wrapped a prehensile foot around a bar, contracting to throw the Warboy over the side. The Warboy rolled as he struck the ground, but stopped when he rolled into a Grimm that tripped over it's prize. The pair fell rapidly behind, Warboy pinned under Grimm and both followed by calls of “Witness!”.

The Ngyarnyamalku was inside the cab of the ute it had landed on, and that ute swung hard away from the convoy as the wheelman was pulled away from his task. The roobar caught a beowolf, which folded under the impact but the body picked up the front wheel, and the whole ute flipped and rolled. Dust tipped spears strapped to the body cracked on impact with the ground, and the initial fire ignited the tanks under the body. The resulting fireball lit the night around it in shades of blood and took out two more beowolves that were too close. But now the line was open, and several managed to dart through the space as they were pressured from behind. The first had two Ngyarnyamalku on it and they leapt forward, grabbing onto and then slipping through the bars. The first was met by a torsion bar swung two-handed, the second had one of Yang's gauntlets rammed through it's chest. But the distraction allowed the beowolf to grab onto the rails itself, and then it was inside the workshop, with a second and third hanging on outside.

Trapped in the confined space with volatile dust canisters nearby, the fearless beowolf was hard to fight. It slipped around Yang, knocked Critty back into the lowered walkway and managed to pin a second warboy to the onside rails with it's haunches. A spray of chrome near it's face and a cry of “Witness Me” led to the last and youngest of the blacktounges shoving his arm into it's mouth. He turned it vertical, bracing his palm against the base and trapping his elbow between the canines as it opened wide to bite down. Blood seeped out from where the incisors cut in and muscles in the bewolf's neck stood out as it braced and started to toss it's head from side to side. But that distraction gave Yang time to line it up, and a punch smashed through it's back knee, followed by Nora jumping onto it's back from the cab of Nux and smashing Mangahild into it's neck. The second was caught by Blake and Ren as it tried to get over the top and thrown back down, part of a leg going under the wheels. The third took a drive-by lancing from a motorbiker pretending to be a knight.

It was almost over. The last of the beowolves were trapped in between vehicles, exploding lances and spiked roobars thinning their numbers. The last of the Ngyarnamalku riders tried to get out, but found itself impaled as well. Then Bent spotted another burst of dust in front.

It fountained upwards in the lights from the front Rig which reacted with admirable speed, swinging away from it and falling in behind Bent. Nux's driver didn't question and lined up as well. The wheelman for the first vehicle in the line containing the beowolves wasn't paying as much attention, and as the sand settled and revealed the Deathstalker's tail he drove straight into it.

The front wheels skipped off the armoured face and the bonnet lifted. Spikes and blades on the roobar caught the tail and sheared it off, while the left claw reached up out of the sand and caught around the rear axle. Bolts holding suspension leaves and tendons holding the claw together failed at about the same time in a shower of parts both flesh and machine. The ute flipped away from the impact, it's lances fortunately spent in the fight. The lancer flew with the vehicle, tucking and rolling as he landed then up and dragging his wheelman from the still rocking wreck. Three of the motorbikes pulled up next to them as the rest of the convoy re-arranged themselves into a standard cruising pattern around the War Rigs. One rapidly disconnected the exposed dust tanks, the other two took a warboy each and then they sped to the back of the wheeled workshop, allowed on board for just long enough to drop their cargo.

 

Inside Nux's cab, Ruby's hand shook with frustration at her own uselessness while Oscar's remaining hand rested on her shoulder and the bag containing what remained of Crescent Rose sat on her lap.

 

In the back, on the floor of the wheeled workshop, the youngest blacktounge lay. His elbow was bandaged and strapped to a wrench to hold the broken joint in place. Imperator Karst knelt over him, hands on the boy's right shoulder and under his ribs on the left hand side.

“You're crazy boy. That stunt you just pulled is your first death. You Lived, you Died, and by my hand you Live Again.” On the last words Karst pulsed his aura and woke something inside the boy. The boy screamed again, the power sweeping him and reawaking all the injuries he had just sustained as it started work on repairing them. The pain faded almost immediately, and Critty and Karst picked him up between them when he passed out. It took some work to get his unconscious body back in the sleeper cab, but they managed it.

Once the convoy resettled after the Grimm fight, positions altered now to account for two less vehicles, Tarmac brought his ute back onto the wheeled workshop and nearly passed out onto his steering wheel. Bent and Mully threw him out, and he made his own way into the sleeper cab, passing out on top of somebody else stacked in there. A replacement wheelman dropped into the seat, adjusted it's position and then backed out to take up the position in the convoy again.

 

Mully had taken another short nap around dawn, then watched for the whole of the day. Another small pack of beowolves were spotted around noon, but they were seen early enough that some skilled riding from the motorbikes distracted them so that they wouldn't have time to catch the convoy. Tarmac understandably complained when he got back in his seat, all the usuals about the seat being in the wrong place and who had adjusted all the mirrors. Mully ignored all of this and spent his time scanning the horizon, comparing the things he saw to the old tales and fixing the path in his mind. People had once walked this land, their paths traced by songlines and star patterns. With luck his children may do so again, so it was time to write the new songs.

Nearing dusk on the second day, he saw something that wasn't in any of the old songs. A dull glow on the horizon turned into lights behind a wall probably 2 men high, and what had seemed at first like a salt pan on the horizon resolved into a shifting layer of blue, like water spread over a vibrating surface. He blinked twice, then had to admit to himself that his eyes had seen it, and now he had to believe it. Endless water.

 

The inhabitants of the coastal town had been watching the dust cloud for hours. It was too small for a dust storm and it moved in a straight line for the town. Every able body and every weapon was on the walls, the others ready to launch boats to sea should they need to run from what could only be a horde of Grimm. When a pair of binoculars picked out trucks and utes at the front of the dust nobody believed it. When they were close enough for the half-naked, white painted humans on board to be seen they believed it a raid. Once everything had stopped and one of the savages stood on the bonnet of the largest truck, just above where “NUX” was welded into it's plow and bellowed “WE COME BEARING GIFTS” they didn't know what to think. It took another half hour of shouted negotiations before anybody was allowed inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons: "Ngyarnamalku". No, I'm not just making up new Grimm. Ngyarnamalku are from the Dreaming of far North-Western Australia, and are evil spirits that live on the endless dry salt lakes. They are described as child-sized humans with all black skin (but considering the area, everybody was black) that are cannibals, eating travelers because that's the only thing that moves on the salt lakes. Their name translates roughly as "They'll eat me". I have thought about using other Aboriginal monsters here and I have a fine selection to choose from, but I'm trying to walk a fine line between the story being close enough to RWBY that regular fans can follow everything and Australian enough that it stands out.
> 
> "Scuttlebutt" is rumours.


	5. Welcome to Bartertown

 

In the largest open plaza in the village, near the shore where the markets would usually be held, there had been placed the largest table that could be found. On one side sat Imperator Karst, Qrow and Weiss Schnee. Facing them were the Mayor, the Harbourmaster, the highest local representative of Pasha Bulka shipping, the manager of the local branch of Vacuo Consolidated Bank and the head of the local Vacuo military garrison. Warboys and soldiers stood behind the seats on their respective sides and glared at each other in the detached manner of seasoned warriors.

The location had been the best compromise they had been able to come to. Too many people wanted to see what was going on, and too many people didn't trust each other. Holding the negotiations in the open was the only way that everyone who wanted to could watch. Not that business negotiations made thrilling viewing, but Weiss was enjoying it because arguing with people over money made sense to her in the same way that stabbing Grimm made sense to Ruby. Qrow was there because somebody had to look after Weiss, and Karst was there because he was technically the owner of the salvaged bullhead sitting on the trailer of the War Rig.

Bargaining had started with Weiss trying to buy a boat, and everyone trying to explain to Karst what money was. Once Qrow was put in charge of keeping Karst informed and Weiss accepted that she wouldn't be able to have her own boat yet, they moved on to a far more productive goal of travel back to Vale, Dust, and vehicle parts. There were diversions into buying food and other supplies, which terminated when Qrow had to be physically restrained from buying all the booze. The final deal was a masterpiece of interlocking agreements, where the garrison bought a functional bullhead and parts using a loan from Vacuo Central, purchase approved by the Mayor, and security for the loan provided by Pasha Bulka shipping in return for Qrow “and party” having safe transport to the continent of Vale. Vacuo Central then completed the paperwork for forming a business, with Karst as the owner until Furiosa Violetta's signature could go on the paperwork. That business promptly got a business account, which had the funds for the sale transferred into it, and back out just as promptly to buy half of the village's stocks of fire and lightning Dust as well as most of a scrap heap. When Weiss finally agreed that Qrow should be paid for his part in the negotiations, and that he could be paid in booze, everybody had got something they wanted. Even if Imperator Karst still wasn't quite sure how.

 

Juane watched them enter the single building in town that catered to travelers. Weiss was beaming in the way that only an oversized ego could provide, while Qrow was sitting next to him at the bar with a speed that made him wonder if Ruby's semblance was inherited.

“Four beers. And drinks tonight are on the girl in white.”

Qrow had the first beer in hand as soon as it hit the polished stone bartop. Juane counted the party that had come through the door with Qrow and something didn't add up.

“Qrow, who isn't drinking?”

Qrow held up a finger to indicate he was busy, then the last of the beer disappeared down his throat and he picked up the next glass. “Not my problem, they can order their own drinks once they get here.” And then the next glass was upended straight into Qrow's throat.

Ruby giggled. Her own glass was still mostly full but she'd never actually seen a sober Qrow before, and watching him try and return to his drunken standard was amusing. Juane took another sip from his and shook his head. He and Ruby were sort of in charge here and he didn't want the rest of the ex-students following Qrow's example. They had all lost a lot to get here, and it would be easy to fall into the same hole that Qrow was in. He took another sip of the beer. So easy. Wouldn't have to think about Pyrrha. Another sip of beer. Yeast and alcohol over bitterness. Ruby poked him in the side.

“Now you're moping too. We're going home Juane. Going to go see your family. You've got things to talk to them about.”

Juane set the half-full glass back down and pushed it away from him a bit. Qrow was slowing down now that he was on his third glass.

“Yeah Ruby. But now that it's over I'm looking back and seeing what it cost to get here. It's a long trail of bodies.”

“Longer then you know kid.” Qrow muttered. Ruby went for something less verbal and hugged him. Juane dropped an arm across Ruby's shoulders, pulling her into his side. Then he looked at Qrow and smiled.

“You want in on this old man?”

“I'll need more then three beers before I start hugging randoms, Juane. And don't call me old.”

Imperator Karst and Weiss had been speaking to Ozpin, and Weiss called everyone else over as one of Karst's warboy escorts sprinted out of the door. Juane and Ruby left their glasses on the bar as they came over, but everybody else brought theirs. Yang had to get a refill before leaving the bar. They gathered chairs around a table that wasn't big enough and made themselves comfortable as Ozpin started to speak.

“Weiss and Karst have gotten us travel back to Vale. We will be staying overnight here and leaving on a cargo ship tomorrow with the afternoon tide. It'll be at least a month before we are back in the city itself and can return to Beacon.”

“Wait.” said Ruby “Beacon? Beacon was destroyed.”

“Beacon is a school, the buildings were just a place to hold it. It is not the first time I have rebuilt the school, and Port and Doctor Oobleck have had something in place for the last few months.”

“So we're just going to be restarting classes?” asked Yang.

“Yes. You will be restarting at the beginning of third year. You have proved excellent at the early training of how to kill Grimm, but you still have a lot to learn. Your next year is going to be almost entirely legal and economic lessons.”

“Not even any missions?” continued Yang.

“Yes, there will still be missions. Hopefully enough to keep even you lot out of unscheduled trouble, though after your first year I sincerely doubt that.”

“We did not choose to live in interesting times.” stated Ren.

“But we would have!” replied Nora.

“As terrifying as the thought of having all of you back under one roof and not pointed at somebody else is, that is not all I will have to worry about.” Ozpin said. The door to the pub opened and a set of familiar warboys filtered in.

“Imperator. You said you needed us.” said Bent. Karst nodded back.

“Ah, yes, here they are now. Bent, Critty, Mullyangah, Tarmac. The Furiosa and I have made a deal. The four of you will be joining Beacon as a third year team, acting as ambassadors for your people.”

“Huh.” said Critty. “That's going to be a long drive.”

“You're traveling with Ozpin and his party.” said Karst. “On what they tell me is called a boat. You won't have to drive.”

“So this is why I was told to pack.” commented Mullyangah.

“Will I be able to take all my tools?” asked Critty.

“Stuff your tools, will I be able to take Susan?” asked Tarmac.

“Who's Susan? Your Wife?” asked Yang.

“Don't be stupid, you can't own a wife. Susan's far more important then that.”

“Susan is his ute.” explained Bent, killing the conversation.

“Thank you Bent. Now, the logistics are dealt with. You will meet us on the docks at midday tomorrow with everything you want to bring.” said Ozpin.

“I still don't understand.” said Bent “We die, often twice, for the Mothers and Wives. Whatever an ambassador is, it sounds like something the Mothers would be good at rather then us.”

“Bureaucracy unfortunately. I am merely the leader of a school, I cannot push the Kingdom of Vale to acknowledge the Spire as a government and worthy of an official consulate and ambassadorial post, but I can take on anybody that I choose as students in my school. I will actually be writing this in as a foreign student exchange program. Furiosa Violetta and I agreed that this was the quickest way to open relations between us.”

“You won't be the first that Ozpin let in for strange reasons.” said Ruby to reassure them. Juane looked uncomfortable at the implication.

“Look, you're going.” said Karst. “Take all your gear, load it on Susan. You won't be the only ones getting dumped in foreign lands, you're just going further then the rest. And Bent, you will speak with the Furiosa's voice in this. You get the title of Legate, responsible for the all the Warboys in Vale, and responsible for Vale's opinion of us. Don't crash boy, because you will have to justify yourself to the Furiosa now, not me.”

“I've never heard of a Legate before” said Bent.

“New times, new roles. Don't crash.”

Juane took over when the discussion turned to accommodation. Karst said there were perfectly good tents out with the convoy. Ruby pleaded her case for a bed. Yang made a comment about Ruby needing a bed big enough for two the way she had been hanging off Juane. Qrow growled to discourage them and Weiss settled the argument by offering to rent out every room the pub had so long as she got first shower. Room assignments were decided soon after, with Yang grabbing Ruby while Qrow ran interference, Nora dragging Ren off and Juane left staring at the rapidly emptying bar and realising that he'd be in a room on his own for the night. He finished the beer he'd previously abandoned while Weiss settled the bill, then followed her up the stairs. In other circumstances it might have been nice to get some privacy from the people he had spent the last two years in constant contact with, but he really wasn't looking forward to a night without the snores and grumbles that had been the most constant thing in his life since being accepted to Beacon.

 

The sun rose over the sea and stabbed at the eyes of Warboys. It woke Bent, and everybody else who had not been on watch at the time. Tents rustled and suspension shifted as they rose, and began their day with that most ancient of pastimes, complaining. Critty was the loudest in their group, having spent the least time out of the climate controlled Spire.

“I didn't know it could get so cold. I can't feel my ears. Hey, Tarmac, can you see my ears? Have they fallen off?”

“If they had, would you be able to hear me tell you that?”

“That's a question for the Meat Mechanic, not a Blacktounge.”

Mullyangah ran through his morning stretches while Bent smacked Critty. Only gently, he was trying to keep order, not piss off his Warboys. Thinking of them as his was going to take some getting used to as the Spire ran a very flat command structure. The Furiosa was in charge, the Imperators yelled at you to get stuff done, everybody else got stuff done. Now there was an extra step in there, and he was standing on it. Time to act like it.

“So, this has gone from a four day there and back trip to an unknown length of time outside the Spire with no idea how we are going to even talk to the people we leave behind. We're going to need more gear.”

“I've got my spare pants, my blanket and Woomera.” said Mullyangah “What else could I need?”

“I don't know. I figure we ask Imperator Karst to start with. You might as well all come.”

“In that case” Tarmac said, and leaned into the ute and unbolted the steering wheel. He pulled it and the tail of a length of chain out of the ute. “Do you want us to arm up?”

“I think we look scary enough without openly carrying weapons. Leave them in the ute.”

Tarmac let go of the chain, and dropped the steering wheel onto a hook on his belt.

“Right. Lets go get yelled at by Karst.” said Bent.

Karst was in his favourite spot, hanging off the onside cab of Nux and yelling at anybody who didn't look like they knew what they were doing. As Warboys almost never made camp, that was everybody. When Bent called out and distracted him, they all took the chance to disappear.

“And what do you want? Getting called Legate going to your head?”

“Yeah, it is. I reckon I'm gonna need a bit more then just some spears and spare pants to go be an ambassador.”

“You're probably right, but the Sun doesn't shine on the answer for me. There's cooking gear in the underbody trays on the offside, take a set of that and then take it up with that Qrow guy.”

Mullyangah took the cooking set back to the ute, and they reconvened in front of the main gates. Tarmac was competing with the guards on the wall as to who could tell the most blatantly false story about slaying Grimm. The guards were ahead with something about a “jellyfish” that had spread almost invisible tentacles from the jetty to the walls before it had pulled it's main body out of the water and been hit with enough fire dust to dry it out. They'd since named it an Irukandji.

“Right.” yelled Bent “If we're done with the furphies, can we get in the gates?”

“Sure, sure. Just step back so they don't fall on you.”

Qrow was leaning on the bar in the same building they had last seen him in. The hyperactive tiny one, Ruby, had commandeered a table and had spread the pieces of her weapon on it. She pushed them round like she was trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. The two blonde ones, Yang and whoever the other was were talking while also leaning on the bar, just far away from Qrow. A few locals in dusty clothes and dockworker tattoos were having beer for breakfast. The white and black ones sat at a table near the weapon, breakfast spread around them. Bent slipped onto the stool next to Qrow.

“So I hear we've got a long way to go. Are we going to need anything?” He asked.

Qrow looked him up and down, gaze passing over the bare and hairless chest, taking in the scars and patterns burned into it from a life of fighting.

“Yeah. A shower. Then a shirt. Same for the rest of you. JUANE! Take this lot upstairs and get them clean, then you and Weiss are taking them shopping.”

“Why me?” grumbled Juane.

“I'd send Ren, he's at least got a sense of style, but he's not awake yet is he.”

“Oh, he's awake. Just hasn't left his room yet.” said Juane.

“How do you know he's awake?”

“Nora.”

Qrow waved Juane off, suddenly unconcerned with what exactly the teenagers under his care were getting up to. Juane led the little party up to the men's bathroom on the top floor, and started explaining how the shower worked. Once satisfied that they were not suddenly going to run out of water, Bent and the rest pulled off boots and dropped trousers. Juane went red and suddenly faced the wall.

“So, ah, yeah, if you just, wash and, dry.” Juane stammered his way through the sentence.

Dried and redressed, they looked far more like people, just people who thought that Sun was a fashion guide. That is, if you ignored the scarring, both accidental and deliberate. Tarmac scratched at the lines on his right arm, fingers following the old scars down from shoulder to elbow. Critty fingered the ridge where the sun-in-wheel symbol had been implanted under his skin across his chest. Mully looked out of the window in boredom.

“This feels weird.” said Critty “Like I've left some part of myself behind.”

“Let's all go back downstairs, and see about getting you some more clothes. And some other supplies.” said Juane.

Bent watched Weiss' eyes flick back and forth between Juane and himself in disbelief. Blake was sniggering behind her hand as Juane tried to explain why they needed Weiss to come with them.

“Because I said so, that's why!” shouted Qrow, without even looking at from his post at the bar.

Weiss snorted, then stormed off through the door. Juane shrugged and gestured for Bent to follow her. They had to jog slightly to catch up, Weiss could stride when she was angry. Juane walked next to her still talking, so Bent fell back on what he did know, convoy fighting. A few hand signals and the four were walking in a standard pattern, with Bent and Critty close in and a pace in front, Tarmac and Mully two paces out and two paces back. Weiss looked away from Juane and suddenly stopped. The Warboys stopped around her, holding formation and turning outwards.

“Juane, when did I get an honour guard?”

“As soon as you walked out the door.” replied Bent, still facing away from her, watching for danger in the others out trying to get their business finished before the midday heat hit. “Now, can we carry on to where we were going? ”

The small pale body stiffened and straightened. The imperious head tilt came back, and Bent could have sworn she was looking down on him even though she was shorter by a head.

“Very well. Follow.”

And she was off again.

 

There had been only two places in the village worth stopping at. A store catering to the cockies of the area provided simple but tough clothing as well as more camping gear. Critty scratched at his new shirt, the feeling of fabric touching his neck still making him uncomfortable. A general store had provided essential toiletries. Well, Weiss and Juane had said they were essential, he was still unsure if washing every day was really a good idea. Still, he'd never owned this much stuff. Tools were mostly the workshop property and a Warboy only owned the clothes he was currently standing in and the weapon he was currently beating Grimm with. This was probably part of his lessons in the new culture, part of being ambassadors. At this point he was more of a glorified porter, carrying roughly half of the new equipment they had been given. The woman in white, Weiss, had organised something with the person who owned all the items, he hadn't really been paying attention.

It was still hours before midday, but they stood here at the jetty anyway. There wasn't much else for them to do, so Critty and Mullyangah watched the ships fishing and the larger cargo ship being loaded from the jetty. Bent and Tarmac had gone to get started on bringing Susan through the village.

“So, Mully, off on a grand adventure we go.”

“We're already on an adventure beyond anything since Furiosa, First of her Name.”

“Well yeah. We're awesome. But what do you think comes next?”

“I'm worried. Look out over that water. It's all the same, and yet it all constantly changes. Where are the landmarks, where are the paths? What sort of songline tells you how to find your way across that?”

“And that boat. I've never seen something so big. We could fit both War Rigs in that. How big an engine does it need to move? How much torque does that thing need? How does it not disintegrate under the forces?”

“It can't be that bad.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody else seems worried about it.”

“Maybe we're the only sane ones?”

Mullyangah stopped talking after that, clearly considering the idea. Then he pointed a finger at Critty.

“Look mate. Any idea in which you are the sane one is clearly bullshit.”

Critty laughed hard enough that he found himself rolling on the ground. He stopped when Mullyangah put a foot on him. No amount of arguing had convinced the black man to wear shoes, but the callouses he pressed into Critty's arm were as hard as leather.

“We've got company.”

Critty rolled backwards, ending in a squat with hands going for where his toolbelt should be. His hands moved away slowly when he saw that Mully was relaxed. It was just one of the visitors. Wait, was he the visitor now? No, none of them were from here, they were all visitors. Existential crises resolved, he straightened and waved hello. Flicking cat ears were all he got in response. Those things really were expressive, he was pretty sure that was mockery for him with a side of shared pain directed at Mully.

“Hey, Blake was it? Do you mind if I ask a question?” Critty asked.

“You just did.” Deadpan response without even turning. She was standing just far enough back from the edge that if she fell over she wouldn't go over, watching the fishing boats.

“Yeah. I'm just going to ask lots of questions in the hope that you'll answer.” Critty looked out over the water, trying to find something that Blake wouldn't dismiss out of hand. He glanced over, then followed her eye movements. There was his in.

“What are all the little boats doing?”

The last of the time before they had to load was filled in by Blake explaining the glories of fish to two young men who were still unsure about the concept of water not coming from a hole drilled into the ground and being strictly rationed.

 

Tarmac and Critty supervised the loading of Susan. They had driven it right to edge of the jetty, and chains ran from a deck crane down and wrapped around the whole chassis. Hand signals from the rigger on the jetty guided the crane as it lifted the ute and brought it over onto the deck. Lacking anywhere better to put it, it was lowered onto a shipping container and chained back down, then covered with a tarp. Tarmac patted it lovingly as he tied the last of the ropes holding the tarp, apologising for leaving it alone and bound in this strange place.

A straight drop off the two-high stack of containers brought him back to the deck. A short walk got took him back to the bow as the last of the preparations for leaving were being finished around him. Mully stood at the point closest to the point of the bow that he could reach, gazing out in every direction. Critty and Bent joined them from out of one of the hatches that led back into the crew quarters. Tarmac turned back to face the direction in which he was pretty sure the Spire was. He interlaced his fingers in the V-shape and bowed his head over them to every thing he was leaving behind.

“By our deeds, we honour him. V8”

Bent and Critty echoed him. In their new clothes and free from the layer of white dust they looked little like the Warboys that they were, but bald heads still gleamed in the light as the mooring lines were cast off and the ship took them away from everything they had ever known.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons:
> 
> Pasha Bulka should be familiar to most Australians, particularly if you were in Newcastle about a decade ago. It's the name of the container ship that a storm tried to park on a Newcastle beach. At low tide you could walk out and put your hand on it.
> 
> "Furphy" is a reference back to the first World War. Furphy was a boilermaking company that made the water carts used by Australian forces. When getting drinking water soldiers would gather around the water cart and tell stories. Often quite blatantly false stories. In times the stories got referred to by the place that people heard them from.
> 
> "Woomera" is one I'd actually expect people to have heard before. It's the name of Australia's rocket test range, but the range is named for Aboriginal spear-throwers. It's a stick about as long as the weilder's forearm, with a handle and a notch at the opposite end to sit the end of the spear in.
> 
> "Cocky" is a landholder or station owner, particularly in NSW and Queensland. In SA, the same people are called Blockies, because they own a block of land. The cowboy equivalent is Jackaroo with the obvious gender swapped Jillaroo.
> 
> "Irukandji" are tiny adorable little jellyfish that win an award for being the most venomous thing by size in the world. The bell is at most 25mm, tentacles grow out to a metre, and the toxin is so severe it causes brain hemorrhages, and has a wonderful delayed effect called Irukandji Syndrome where all your muscles cramp, including the involuntary ones. Oh, and just to make the things more terrifying they may be smart enough to actually hunt, they can fire stingers short distances, and their range is extending south with global warming. There was no way I could leave these out of the story.


	6. Contiki Tourists

The boat trip was a new experience for Oscar. Not a good experience, as the trip informed him that he got seasick, badly. The only saving grace was that Ozpin retreated into his mind to try and avoid the pain, so the voyage was the longest period since he had woken up with the old wizard that he was alone with his thoughts. If only he didn't have to spend so much of it hunched over a rail or staring at the horizon. His best companion during this time was Juane, who talked him through all the techniques he had acquired to reduce his own airsickness. The worst was Yang, who had taken to calling them the Vomit Boys and acting as if they were going to start a boy band.

The other Beaconites sparred. And they did it on deck, because that was the only large enough clear space. Simple warm up routines, no semblances. These were the only moments that Ozpin would come close to the surface, congratulating himself on the skills that they all showed. The Warboys kept to themselves, spending most of their time inside.

Or at least they had been.

Qrow had just finished demolishing Ren in a short-range fight to widespread congratulations when a heavily calloused hand dropped onto Oscar's shoulder. Bent had gone so far as to wear a shirt but the buttons were undone and his pants were the black armoured ones that had been his Warboy uniform. A wide smile was on his bald face.

“Come boy, there's nothing new to see looking over the rail. Come sit with us as we share stories of our homes.”

“I'd love to learn the truth about where you lived.” Oscar wasn't sure if it was him or Ozpin that had answered.

“Hey” said Critty “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

A quick discussion with Qrow, and they were all gathering in a circle near the bow, making themselves comfortable on the deck. Nora started the entertainment, falling into the old pattern of massive exaggeration on her part and patient correction from Ren. Tarmac offered a tale of a competition several of the wheelmen had held years back, attempts to throw a Warboy off a vehicle and into a specific target. Ruby took the next turn, sharing happy memories of the first time she got a batch of cookies to bake properly. Oscar himself gave a short explanation of crop rotation from his nearly forgotten time as a farmer's son. The sun dipped lower towards the horizon.

Yang gave a blow by blow description of how much she had been propositioned at a bar at one of their previous stops. This turned into a literal blow-by-blow when one of the propositions she described included too much grabbing. Critty countered with the story of the day he had attempted to attach a turbocharger to what the few notes he could find said was a “ride on lawnmower”. The story concluded with a description of the small scorched crater in the workshop wall that now bore his name. Blake waved away the attention turned to her, so Juane took over with memories of times he had shared with Pyrrha, mistakes he had made back when he was new to the life of a huntsman. Ruby's hand found his early in the story, and by the end he was clutching it in his lap. Bent took his turn with the telling of how Violetta took the title of Furiosa following one of the worst recorded attacks on the Spire by Grimm. By the time he had finished the sun had disappeared completely and stars were twinkling in the sky.

Qrow tipped back his flask and looked over those assembled. He smiled, all roguish intent and dark attraction, and launched into a tale of a trail of thievery, seduction, extortion and violence that had ended in him and his sister being accepted into Beacon. When he ended it with “So stay in school, kids.” Oscar could feel Ozpin's shock at the story. Ozpin had known who the Branwens were when they applied and he allowed them in, but he had carefully not thought about how they could have gotten that application to him. Even if only a conservative half of the story was actually true, he was very confused that his choices in students had worked at all.

Mullyangah slapped his hand on the deck, the clang bringing everyone back to the moment. Then he began, the words “Long ago, in the Dreamtime” taking his audience with him on a ancient journey, his hands tracing patterns in the lights of stars far above that told of hunters pursuing prey and prey running from hunters across the seasons. Stars became flowers that told of rains and rising rivers. Other stars became trees and grasses, growing in the sun and swaying in the winds. And the whole pattern moved with the running of the hunters, the changes in the sky reflected in the lands below.

“Did I just get told a tale or a calendar?” asked Blake.

“Why not both?” replied Mully.

That night broke down the barriers between the two groups. Oscar saw the Warboys more often on deck, and less often as a single group. They watched the sparring, talked with those who would become their classmates, and chased the sailors with questions about everything. Four more days of this, eight days since their departure, and the shores of the continent came into view again. One last sleep, and the significantly larger port that was their destination was visible. One of the bigger ports servicing Vale, this was the one closest to Vacuo and saw much of the traffic from the desert continent. Ozpin pointed out in his head that it was already on the shipping route, and had served as the cheapest way of fulfilling the contract with Weiss.

 

Susan had come off first, sitting as it was on top of a stack of containers. Bent sat on the roobar while Tarmac leaned out of the window and they watched the massive dock cranes shift stacks of containers in seconds. Critty was taking notes, searching for improvements that could be made to the simple gantry crane that was across the workshop he was used to. Nora, Ren and Blake had been left to watch them while Qrow and Weiss organised further transport. Night had fallen during the unloading and Mully was staring at the stars while Bent tried to work out what they would be doing for travel to the next city. Not everybody would fit into Susan, and if they were stuck at walking pace it would take forever to get anywhere.

His musings were interrupted by an odd beeping noise from Blake. Even Blake was surprised, patting herself down until finding something and then holding it up to her lower ear. Bent listened to half a conversation, eyes flickering madly around to try and find the other person she was talking to. Blake repeated back a name and a set of directions, then raised her voice to address everybody.

“That was Weiss. They've got rooms for us overnight at a hotel near the northern gate. She said there was nothing for tomorrow, but she was confident she could get us on a train towards Vale the day after.”

“I have so many questions” started Bent

“And I'll answer them on the way. Ren, can you find this address?”

Ren copied down the address, then grabbed Nora's hand.

“Critty, with them. Take notes so you don't get lost.” said Bent.

Tarmac leaned right over the passenger seat and pulled the seat back release, then popped the door open. Mullyangah was already folding himself through the back window and Bent pulled the front seat back into place as he slid in behind it. Blake's motion was far less practiced but still graceful when she lowered herself into the passenger seat.

“Go hard right, take that wider road that heads towards the moon. I'll tell you when we need to get off.”

Tarmac started the engine and lazily spun the wheel, lining up with the road that Blake had indicated.

“So how did you talk to Weiss when she wasn't anywhere near you?”

“With my scroll” she replied, holding the device up over her shoulder for Bent to watch as she ran through the menus. “Scrolls can talk to each other, so if I know the number I can talk to anyone. It also lets me take notes, record video, read books, play music.”

With the last comment, she tapped the screen to open a menu, flicked her finger to start scrolling, then tapped again to choose something. From the scroll came a gentle swelling of high-pitched string instruments, joined after a few beats by a set of deeper strings.

“Music while we drive? We need this.” said Tarmac.

“We don't need this.” replied Bent.

“I was talking to Susan. It's alright darling, he doesn't know what he's talking about.” Tarmac said as he gently ran a hand over the dash. Blake shifted in her seat slightly to get a little bit further away from the driver.

Bent was glad when Blake pointed to a turnoff and guided them to a three story building in a u-shape around an open garden courtyard. Tarmac stopped as close to the kerb and the entrance to the building as he could, where Juane was waiting to meet them. Blake was first out, grabbing keys off Juane and dividing them up while Mully untied bags from the back lancer's perch. Tarmac stood out and stretched, then hung the steering wheel on it's hook on his belt and took the first two bags from Mully.

Rooms organised, bags distributed and Nora, Ren and Critty found, they reconvened in the cheap attached restaurant. Nora gleefully dragged tables around so that they had a large enough space to seat them all while chanting “pancakes” under her breath. Ren tried to calm her down and remind her that they probably wouldn't serve pancakes for dinner.

“The amount we're about to spend, they'd cook anything we asked for.” Said Qrow, running a quick headcount and passing menus around.

“Pancakes!”

“Nora, at least wait till everyone else is ready to order.” said Ren, guiding her to a seat, and falling in next to her with a hand still on her leg.

Bent took the menu that was being passed around, and looked at it in confusion. Pages of descriptions of things he had never heard of organised in a table next to costs. He flicked back and forth hoping that he had missed something that would make the whole thing make sense. Glances at the other Warboys got a soft response of “This looks like a Legate problem” from Tarmac. Bastard, throwing him to the dingoes like that. He looked up, and he could tell that Yang had worked out that something was wrong, because she was sniggering at him. Ruby noticed, correctly identified it as a social situation, and promptly offloaded it by poking Juane. Juane looked at Ruby, followed her nod and confusion morphed into understanding on his face.

“You have no idea what to order, do you?”

“I have no idea what is going on at all.”

Juane moved his seat round so that he and Bent could look over the same menu, and explained what each item was with patience trained by younger siblings. Bent settled for ordering from the seafood and vegetarian options. After a week on a boat he knew what a fish was and how to prepare it, but he didn't trust the idea of a chicken or a cow yet. Still, he paid attention to the ordering, and how the payment worked. He would have to know how this 'lien' worked before they made it to Beacon.

Breakfast the next day was held in the same place, with three very different atmospheres. The Beacon students were treating this as an impromptu holiday, Qrow and Ozpin were treating it as the lead in to the endless paperwork they would face upon return to civilisation and their jobs, and the Warboys were treating it as a combat mission in dangerous territory. Maps were checked, objectives defined and fall back points located. Bent had fourteen hours to learn as much as he could about these new people and his intention today was two-fold. Heavy industry and farming. He had walked the sky garden before, and he had Mullyangah with him, who knew as much about the system as any Warboy was allowed to learn, but the people here talked as if vast tracts of land could be used for growing crops. If something here could help the Spire, he had to know.

With a cry of “Bugger off you meddling kids!” Qrow chased them out. Tarmac held up their map covered in scribbles, aligned it with the few features he could identify and pointed them towards the closest gate. They went on foot, having been repeatedly warned that the ute was too distinctive for general use.

Twenty minutes of a light stroll took them outside the gates in the wall, which was higher and thicker then the previous walled village. Barrels next to the gate and regularly spaced along the wall pointed to the sky, but it was the ground that fascinated Bent. Everywhere he looked was green, the green of plants. Just growing out of what would have only been sand. Low wire fences separated the path they were standing on from large areas of plants that grew tall and proud. They were obviously controlled, the rows they grew in too neat to be natural. More fences separated types of plants from each other, dividing the land outside the wall into orderly blocks in the same way the roads within the wall did.

Bent led them out from the city wall till they hit a crossroads. The path leading outwards was wider, surfaced with some back and hard material. The path that crossed it was hard packed dirt, and they turned onto it, walking parallel to the wall. They followed that path for hours, noting the shapes of plants, of buildings and trying to work out how some of the things they passed were edible. They only stopped when the fields hit the beach, greenery disappearing into the sand Bent was more familiar with. The wall continued into the ocean, great foundations of piled rocks tapering as the wall rose to the artificial stone that the rest of it was made from. This matched what the map had shown, and the smaller gate was exactly where the map said it should have been.

Inside the gates were docks, very close to where they had unloaded the night before. The heavy industry, such as it was, was concentrated here. Half-built farming equipment and pieces that looked like they belonged on ships were the most common, but a smaller fenced in yard contained bodies of vehicles. Other warehouses were non-descript, company logos that meant nothing to Bent the only sign of what they contained.

“Well this is a bust.” moaned Tarmac as they stood outside yet another featureless shed of iron. “How are we supposed to learn anything if we can't see anything?”

“Break in?” suggested Critty.

“Critty, you haven't been allowed to suggest plans since the lawnmower.” Bent wasted no time in shutting down Critty. “Let's go see this train thing.”

Critty was disappointed for about five minutes, until he saw the first train car being loaded and immediately realised why all the shipping containers had been the same size. Bent tuned him out as he began to ramble about the logistical benefits of standardisation across transport networks and turned to Mullyangah to discuss how exactly the train would be defended. There were none of the attachments they were used to, no perches for lancers to stand at, no railings to hold while moving along it or openings for Warboys to move in and out of.

“Maybe it's not defended? If most people can't fight maybe it's just armoured and survives the Grimm rather then defeats them.” Suggested Mullyangah.

“But there are Grimm large enough and fast enough to either catch or stop most things. Why would they make an easy target like this?”

“Grimm go for people. If there's only cargo in it, and it has tracks to run on, maybe there's no people to attract the Grimm?” Mullyangah said, gesturing at the steel lines that the wheels rested on.

“And what, they just start the engine and let it roll? Can't be, too many things to go wrong. What if the track is missing or blocked? Somebody needs to be control.”

“Well at least this time we have people who we can actually ask” said Tarmac. He grabbed Bent and pushed him towards the office building, then kept pushing as he followed.

When faced with an overworked clerk surprised at the four young men in his office, three of them bald, Bent fell back on his most practiced skill. Lying. Well, sort of lying. They were from _a_ country, they were going to train as hunters, Ozpin had said he was a teacher, yes this was totally a school assignment to learn about various defenses from the Grimm. Not a set of spies for a foreign power that may be planning an invasion. No foreigners here. None what so ever. A bit more polite deference, some well aimed questions from Critty about the engineering side of things and they had a guard showing them the train. They were taken through the guard carriage, shown how various turrets were folded away during travel to allow for increased speed, shown the on board sensors that monitored the tracks and the sky for Grimm, and finally led into the cabin at the front where the two drivers would sit. Bent slapped Tarmac's hand away when he started to reach for one of the controls. Some more weaponised politeness from Bent and a promise to thank the people involved to their teachers got them away. As soon as possible they found a public bench and collapsed. They had been on their feet all day so far, and the sun was well past half-way in the sky.

“Thoughts?” asked Bent.

“Fuck the War Rig. I'm gonna drive a _train_.”said Tarmac.

“What about Susan?” asked Critty.

“She'll understand.”

“The trains cannot be the only method of long distance travel. How would they get there to lay the tracks?” pointed out Mullyangah, dragging the conversation back to the topic.

“They came with three flying machines. You saw them first remember.” said Bent

“They must take space to land, and would be vulnerable if anything failed or they ran out of Dust.”

“So we've got another question there to answer. What about the manufacturing?”

“Nowhere near enough here to account for all the things we have seen. That whole ship we came here on must be packed with things made elsewhere and brought here.” said Critty. “But more then that, everything here looks new. These people are not repairing and picking over corpses for parts like we are, they are building new from scratch. If we can find a way to get even some of this back to the Spire, we'll never need to dig the sands for ruins again.”

“I know. But what do we have that these people could possibly want?” asked Bent. “There's more food here then I've ever seen before. There's devices we never found any sign of even in the deepest ruin.”

“That's the Mother's problem.” reminded Tarmac. “We're here to make a good impression so that they have a chance to solve it.”

“We do have another problem. How do we tell the Furiosa what we have learned?”

“Well Bent, that sounds like a Legate problem to me.” Tarmac's grin as he delivered the words was best described as 'shit-eating'.

“Up yours too. Right, if there's nothing else, let's get back to where we're sleeping. I'm hungry.”

“Yes Legate.” This time, the shit-eating grin was mirrored across all three members of Bent's team.

 

Travel, Tarmac decided, was really boring when he wasn't the one driving. The excitement of the double-decked setup of the passenger cars had lasted for about as long as it took them to leave the station, which had been about the same time that he had found out that they were all the same. The train had picked up speed slower then anything he had been in previously, but that just made sense based on the comparison of engine size to number of carriages. Once it was at full speed it was a matter of a few minutes and some notepaper to calculate a rough speed. He would have liked to check his work, but he didn't have the pre-calced tables of trigonometric values that he needed.

And that left him with nothing to do for the rest of the trip. He swept his gaze over the rest of the group, seeing people reading, focused on their scrolls or in two cases asleep. The only one that met his eyes was the small hyperactive redhead who looked as bored as he was. The man she usually talked to was one of the ones asleep. She gestured him over and bounced in her seat until he moved so he could sit down beside her.

“Hi. Haven't really had a chance to talk to you. I'm Nora.”

“Tarmac.”

“That's a funny name. Why are you named after a road?”

“huh?”

“Tarmac. It's the stuff they put on roads to make them hard.”

“My name means smooth and fast. Didn't know it had another meaning.”

“So why are you bald?”

“By the time a Warboy is fourteen, the Witnessing Sun has burned off all his skin five or six times. By that point it takes the hair with it.”

“All the hair?” Nora's questions were delivered as fast as she could get the breath to ask the next one.

“Yes, all the hair.”

“How did you get the scars?”

“Which ones? The big ones down my arm are from a beowolf trying to drag me out of the ute.”

“Why didn't your aura protect you? Was it a long fight?”

“I hadn't earned my second life yet.” Tarmac fingered the section of the scar showing out from under his sleeve. “This was the injury that earned it for me.”

“You let people fight without having their aura unlocked?”

“If you won't give your first life for the Spire, what's the point of living a second?”

“You people are weird.”

“So are you.”

“Exactly. Now let's go find something to do!”

Nora shot up, somehow perfectly avoiding bumping Ren. She grabbed Tarmac by his closest arm and dragged him with her as she moved down the isle towards the door leading to the carriage behind. He was dragged through the next carriage as well, and into the third when Nora started muttering to herself.

“Baggage car, baggage car, baggage car...”

“Another car on. We were close to the front.”

Nora kept her speed to just below a jog and let go of Tarmac. Tarmac followed anyway because he didn't have anything else to do. His eyes wandered over the seated people, wondering what exactly all these people did. They didn't look like fighters, or like they worked at all. No muscle, none of the barely controlled paranoia that people learned when they stood out against the Grimm. Even Nora who seemed so happy and carefree placed her feet like every step was going to be the one she had to push off from to make an attack. She checked back when she got to the door, then waved at him to catch up as she skipped forward to the last carriage in the line.

The baggage car was dark compared to the passenger cars. No windows, nothing but racks of stored belongings and dim lights strung to the ceiling. Nora changed mood completely when she was out of sight from the previous carriage. She turned all business, searching quickly and efficiently through the racks until she found the white and pink case that held her equipment. She reached inside it, then turned back into her sunny self as she drew out a stubby silver grenade launcher.

“Alright! Let's go stand on top of the train.”

Tarmac grabbed at the four identical duffle bags that the Warboys were living out of, and found a familiar clanking in one of them. He opened up his bag and drew out a thick chain that was almost as long as he was tall. He wrapped it around his bare right forearm as he drew it out, holding the last of it in his hand just high enough so it would not scrape on the floor.

“You got your weapon, I thought I should get mine.”

“Does it have a name? Mine is Magnahild”

“No name, just a chain.”

“Onward!”

They stepped back through the door that allowed entry into the baggage car but stopped before getting into the last of the passenger cars. Nora bounced a few times then jumped, but was still well short of being able to grab the roof of the train. She pouted and turned to Tarmac, to find him already crouching and offering his cupped hands. She took a half step into them and Tarmac straightened as fast as he could. Nora pushed off as he reached above his head and back flipped neatly onto the top of the train. She stumbled a bit on the landing, the rushing wind pushing against her. Tarmac watched her get her feet back under herself, then flicked out his chain into her waiting hand and let her pull him up.

Tarmac adjusted to being on top of the train much faster then Nora had. His whole life had been spent fighting at these speeds. He was the one who spotted the shape protruding from the roof of a carriage several ahead of him.

“Is someone sitting up here?”

“Let's go ask them!”

It was someone sitting up on top of the train, and the mystery of who was solved when Nora got close enough to yell.

“Drunkle Qrow!”

Qrow stood and turned back to face them. “I'm not your uncle, and what are you doing up here?”

“I never knew my parents. You could be my uncle! And we were bored, what's your excuse?”

“I'm doing my job. I'll actually get paid for this trip.” Qrow took a belt from his ever-present flask “Also, I can drink up here and not get yelled at by a fourteen year old.”

“Do you mean Oscar or Ozpin?” asked Nora.

“Yes.” replied Qrow.

Qrow settled again, Nora wandering around poking at things with her feet. Tarmac kept standing and scanned the horizon, looking out over endless crowns of trees and trying to work out how to describe what he was seeing to those that had stayed behind. He felt like he finally understood the phrase “explaining colours to the blind”.

Some things were the same anywhere you went however. Pulling itself above a tree in front of them was a dark speck that rapidly grew into an oversized bird Grimm. Behind it were several more and another that looked more like a winged Beowolf then a bird.

“Qrow, Grimm.” Stated Tarmac.

Qrow clipped his flask back onto his belt and stood while muttering about things interrupting his alone time.

“Nora, Tarmac, get behind me.” he said as brought his sword around. He stepped into the first Nevermore, cleanly slicing through it's neck before it was ready. The second was sidestepped and stabbed in the eye, but the third had enough time to see what was happening. It dropped it's claws early and tore scratches into the metal of the train roof as it slowed down. Qrow was forced to swap quickly to blocking it's pecks when he found that it wasn't where he expected it to be. The Griffin went over the top of him.

Nora went to leap for it, Magnahild raised. She misjudged the wind and was swept back, leaving Tarmac standing his ground against it. He raised the short length of chain he had to work with hanging between his wrists, and flicked to form a loop in it.

The Griffin went straight for Tarmac's centre-mass, a bite that should have left it feasting on his succulent liver. But Tarmac hat timed it right and the bottom jaw of the open beak passed into the loop of chain. Tarmac wrenched his arms apart, the wrappings around either arm tightening into his aura and the loop around the beak tightening and holding. The Griffin spread it's feet and pushed forward again, trying to get at the food just out of it's reach. Tarmac let his upper body get pushed back, then kicked his feat off the ground and buried them in the thick sharpened feathers around the Griffin's neck. Propped that way, nothing the Griffin tried could get Tarmac into it's mouth. And with it's face full of Tarmac, it didn't notice Nora moving back up until her hammer crashed into it's foot, and smoothly flipped over on it's upswing bounce to smash into it's neck between Tarmac's feet.

Tarmac dropped off as the Griffin started to collapse, unwrapping the chain from his left hand and gently swinging it as he looked for more targets. But all he could see were dissipating clouds of black smoke and Qrow checking his blade for nicks.

“You two might as well head back down. This trip is going to be just as boring up here as it is down there.”

“Sure Drunkle Qrow!”

“Weapons away before you scare the civilians, and stop calling me Drunkle!”

Nora just smiled broadly as she wandered back along the train.

Weapons were stowed, and a quick check done for any damage to clothing from the fight. Satisfied that there was nothing to invite questions, Nora and Tarmac walked quietly back through the train to where the rest of the group was seated. It was very similar to when they left, but in the hour they had been gone the sleepers and the readers had swapped over. Nora dropped back into the seat next to Ren who nodded at her.

“We just went to see Qrow. He says hi.”

Ren nodded again, apparently satisfied with the explanation.

Tarmac took the seat on the other side of Nora.

“Blake mentioned that you can use your scroll to play music. Can you show me how that works?”

Nora pulled out a set of earphones and plugged them in, then passed one to Tarmac and showed him how to put it in his ear. She spent the rest of the journey introducing him to Remnant's best of classic Rock and Metal.

 

This whole world seemed to run on paperwork. Every time they had done something so far, it had been attached to paperwork. Even the tokens that were exchanged for goods were paper. And here Critty sat, doing yet more paperwork because his handwriting was the best out of the group.

“I'm not sure about this question.” he said, pointing to a line right at the top of the Beacon application paperwork.

“Last Name? Just put down what your family name is.” said Glynda Goodwitch

“I've only got one name. Each of us only has one name. There's never been enough people to need two names.”

“You will have to put something in there, It's a required field.”

“I'm gonna go with Bruce. Everybody else happy with Bruce?” There were generally affirmative responses from the group.

“So you are all going to take the same name?” asked Miss Goodwitch in disbelief.

“Well yeah. It'd be confusing if one of us was different.”

With that first hurdle dealt with and some inventive bookkeeping declaring their guardian to be a member of the Vacuoian consulate, they were all now students of Beacon, enrolled into the general third year curriculum. Then the paperwork got significantly worse. Applications for identity documents through the Vacuoian consulate which would take forever to sort out. Registration for Susan, which having been scratch built in a desert came nowhere near meeting Vale's road safety guidelines. It was easier to just declare Susan a hunter's weapon and ignore the fact that it was too big to carry. Then there were more sensible weapon permits, dietary restrictions, a Beacon code of conduct that each had to read and sign, and finally a room rental agreement. When Miss Goodwitch asked for their scrolls to upload the room unlock code onto them she just shook her head at the answer. She opened a cabinet at the back of the room and drew out four Beacon issue scrolls.

“After the events of the Fall, several of these were no longer required by our students. I recommend you purchase your own soon, because these remain the property of the school.”

The scroll that Critty held was dented on one side and had a small crack on the edge of the screen. There was also a stain in the grooves around the battery compartment that he was pretty sure was blood. Not really a problem, there wasn't a thing the Warboys used that hadn't had a previous owner die. This one turned on and connected to the three that the other Warboys were holding, so it would do fine. At least until he got bored and tried to take it apart to see how it worked. He'd started looking for the screws before Bent smacked him across the back of the head.

“With that done, let my formally welcome you to Beacon as a team. From now on you will be BMCT, or Brimstone. Classes begin in two weeks, a timetable will be provided closer to the date.”

A hand fisted into his collar dragged him out of the chair, and out of the office that Glynda Goodwitch had appropriated. Just before the door closed he heard Miss Goodwitch talking to herself.

“Even from beyond the grave Ozpin manages to make my life hell.”

From the third floor where they stood, he could look out over the school. “Beacon” was now a set of partially renovated warehouses near the docks of Vale, and a four-story office building that sat on a main road. The office building they were just leaving held the teachers and management, as well as small classrooms. Large open spaces in warehouses had been set aside as combat arenas, smaller sections cordoned off to make lecture halls. As yet the map Critty had been given showed no library, but that wasn't what he was after. The third warehouse had been most extensively modified, and now was the dorms for the whole school, and somewhere in there was a bed with his name on it.

The bed with his name on it was in the room with his name on it. Well, now the room had his name on it, he was glad he'd flogged this crayon a couple of days back. Under protest, he put everybody else's names on the door too. Then he put the team name on the top. It would do for now, when they had more time and a workshop he would engrave a proper sign.

“Brimstone? How did you get Brimstone?” asked Yang from a doorway across the hall. Clearly the rooms were arranged by year groups, which left the few they knew closest to them.

“I guess that C was close enough to S.” said Ren, a consistent voice of reason.

“They could have gone with Biochemistry.” suggested Blake from over Yang's shoulder.

“Or Bombastic!” said Nora, leaning on Ren.

“How about you all go with shutting up, because some of us want to sleep!” came from a set of green spiky hair out of the next door down.

“It's great to see you too Russel” replied Yang, blowing a kiss as Blake dragged her back into their room. Ren escorted Nora away and Bent swiped his scroll over the lock, letting them into what would be their home for the foreseeable future. Four beds with footlockers and a single upstanding cupboard greeted them. The walls were unfinished gyprock, cable trays and pipelines ran on the ceiling. The only light was a single fluorescent in the ceiling.

“You know, we get a pet rock in here and it'll be just like home.”

“Shutup Critty.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language lessons:
> 
> Gyprock is an Australian manufacturer of plasterboard sheeting, and a pile of other internal construction material. They are so well established that I didn't find out that Gyprock was a brand name till I'd been working on high rises for nearly a year.
> 
> Roobar is like a bullbar, but typically more heavily reinforced and they lean forward from the vehicle. Australian animals are very fast and top heavy, so the bar needs to push them down and under the vehicle to stop them coming in the windscreen. They are illegal in Australia because they kill pedestrians, but once you're outside the major cities those rules are not enforced heavily.
> 
> Dreamtime is the term for the time before in Aboriginal Mythology. It's not a great translation, but we don't really have a better one. Sometimes "Dreaming" gets used, but that is more appropriate for describing the collected cultural lessons that have carried through to the present.
> 
> Other Notes
> 
> The version of CRDL I am using here is from Redemption by RainStorm4 over on Fanfiction. If you haven't read that one, don't worry, Russel will explain the important stuff over breakfast next chapter.
> 
> And Seasons, damn seasons. Australia has between 2 and 6 seasons depending on where in the country you are. Adelaide is the place where they line up closest with the English seasons, but they're still at least a month out of line and are described more by the directions that the winds come from then anything like trees changing colour. Seeing as Rooster Teeth built the English seasons into the mythology of the show, this is going to cause future me some problems.


	7. The Big Smoke

Breakfast was a cold affair. Not that it bothered Yang, but the Warboys she was sitting across from looked like they had worn every item of clothing they owned. Everybody who was part of the school and not a lecturer was sitting around a long metal bench across one side of the warehouse that the dorms were in, with a makeshift kitchen up against one wall. Cooking had to be done in shifts, and currently Ren was turning out pancakes as fast as Nora could eat them while Juane was going through eggs and bacon. Mullyangah was watching, adapting campfire cooking to this new source of heat. The fact that it was the only source of warmth in the room was a side benefit.

“So, Russel, what've you been up to?” asked Yang of the new boy in their group.

“Oh, the usual. Saving the city, shacking up with a pair of twins.”

“Twins? You needed two women to make up for not having me?”

“I'm not hearing you say you did anything better.”

“Just little stuff. Got a new arm, saved the world, found a new civilisation.”

“Good thing you've got a new arm. You'd need both hands to handle all this.”

Blake slapped a hand across Yang's mouth before she could respond. “Flirting later. Thrush, where are the rest of CRDL?”

“Cardin's at home with the family. Dove and Sky are together at Sky's family home, probably trying to break a bed right now. They'll all be back the day before the semester starts up. Who are the new guys?”

“Oh” piped up Ruby “This is BMCT, Brimstone. Bent, Mully, Critty and Tarmac. They're from the new civilisation that we found.”

“So they had to change the C to an S?” asked Russel.

“To be honest” said Critty “Having my name changed to start with an S makes me feel kind of shitty.”

Blake saw it just before Yang did and tried to hold her partner back, but Yang's exuberance would not be contained.

“YES! Did you hear that Russel, finally someone with a sense of humour!”

Further celebrations between the two were cut short by the arrival of Juane and Ren with food. Heaped plates were dropped on the table between the starving huntsmen and huntresses along with cutlery and more plates

“Waited on by the men in my life, I could get used to this.” teased Yang.

“HEY! Ren is the man in my life, and I'm not sharing.” said Nora

“But not together-together?”

“Um?” Nora looked at Ren in confusion. Ren raised a hand and rocked it back and forth in a so-so motion, then nudged Nora to make room to sit down next to her. “Yeah, what he said.” finished Nora.

Further conversation disappeared into the endless appetites of highly active young adults.

Food demolished and Blake and Weiss losing the competition that was held to decide who was washing up, Bent turned to his team.

“So, we're broke.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Mullyangah.

“Everything requires giving away some of this lien. We don't have any. Until all the paperwork we worked through last night comes back we don't even exist, and have no way of getting any.”

“If I'm following this right, we can do things for other people and they will give us lien, right? What are we good at that other people will want us to do?” said Tarmac.

“The only thing we're good at as a group is murdering Grimm, and they won't let us do that on our own here” said Mullyangah.

“Maybe murdering things other then Grimm?” suggested Critty.

“What did I say about you and plans Critty?”

“Actually,” interrupted Yang “I may know of someone who needs that sort of skill, and isn't going to ask difficult questions.”

Ruby looked positively shocked as she glared at her sister.

“C'mon Rubes, it's not that bad. He just runs a nightclub. And an underground information ring. And occasionally acts as a black market source.”

“I think I know the guy.” said Russel “He doesn't open till the evening, so there's plenty of time before you can see him.”

“Oh? What has Junior been doing since the last time I saw him?”

“Goodwitch.”

The response across the table was strong enough that even Ren was momentarily shocked. Juane snorted orange juice out of his nose, Yang stared in disbelief.

“Like, Glynda together-together with someone?” asked Nora.

“Yep. Junior went all out on romancing and seducing her after the Fall of Beacon. Must have worked, because he's been a regular here since we got set up. With Yang and I putting in a good word, he'll find something for you to do.”

“So, what are the plans until then?” Yang asked.

“Maintenance.” said Critty, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to where Susan was sitting.

“Can I stick round for that? I miss working on Bumblebee.”

“Sure, but it's just going to be me and Tarmac. Don't know what these two are doing.”

“”Mully _and I_ will be seeing if Glynda can get us a meeting with someone in the Vacuoan Consulate, trying to get us some way of communicating with the Furiosa” replied Bent.

“Yeah, that sounds like a boring Legate job. Maintenance it is.” said Tarmac.

Yang sat on the part of the bonnet of Susan that wasn't reinforced into a lancer's perch, just in front of where Tarmac sat in the driver's seat and watched Critty's armoured jeans stick out from under the vehicle.

“Yeah, just run through the gears again.” came Critty's muffled voice.

Tarmac's shoulder tensed and he slowly stepped the gearstick through each spot on the pattern.

“That all sounds smooth. Stick it in low range.”

Tarmac had to reach forward to get to the second gearstick, and it slid backwards easily.

“Nice. Good to hear nothing out of that second box for a change.”

Critty's hands appeared and grabbed onto the footrail, then he slid himself out from under the vehicle and flipped himself upright.

“Nothing broke in transport, and it all looks clean. You can fire up the engine and we'll check how all of that is running.”

Tarmac held a switch on the dash, and the body of Susan shuddered once as the engine caught. It settled into a gentle hum quickly and both Critty and Tarmac looked pleased at the way it was running.

“So what is under the bonnet on this?” asked Yang.

“Turbo intercooled straight six.” said Tarmac.

“Is that all? It doesn't sound that impressive.” replied Yang with a smirk.

“Really?” said Tarmac, and then he sank the boot.

Susan  _roared_ . Cylinders that were just rolling over rejoiced as Dust was fed into them in ever-growing amounts. The turbocharger spun up, dragging air in to feed the explosions. The vibrations shock the mounts and the exhaust, rattles blending into the fury. The bonnet under Yang's arse went from soothing vibration to aggressive massage. And then it was gone, Tarmac easing up on the pedal and the warehouse returning to tranquility.

Yang pretended to fan herself with one hand.

“Usually a guy buys me dinner before he makes me feel that good.”

“Susan's not a guy. Also, she's taken. Now hop off, we need to check under that hood.”

Getting the bonnet open was a production, with the lancer's perch needing to be unbolted from the rollcage before the release for the bonnet could be reached. With it propped open all the belts and hoses were checked, then the engine was killed and all fluid levels and wiring was checked. Satisfied that Susan was a perfectly running weapon, Tarmac and Critty sealed everything back up and faced Yang.

“So while you're here.”

“And Bent isn't.”

“There's something we need your help with.”

“See, there's something we want to add to Susan.”

“She needs a sound system.”

Yang's gaze flicked back and forth between the two as they spoke, then she smiled and opened her scroll.

“So, something loud enough to compete with the engine? I think I can help.”

 

The sun was going down when the four reconvened in front of a nightclub in an area that seemed far less damaged then the rest of the city. The sign out the front simply proclaimed it as “The Club” and Russel was already there talking to two men in black suits and red sunglasses.

“So how did the consulate go?” asked Tarmac.

“It wasn't bad” replied Mullyangah.

“Because you slept through all the waiting. And there was a lot of waiting. So many people to talk to, none of who knew who we were. But when we finally got to who we needed to talk to, it worked out. Back at the Spire they are working on putting a Bullhead dock somewhere, and then it will be possible to get small loads back and forth. They'll let us know when it's ready.” said Bent.

“I still reckon it should be called a Goomblegubbon.”

“Shut up Critty.”

“Is Russel meant to be waving at us like that? He's been doing it for a while.” asked Tarmac.

Bent herded his team through the doors and into the club which was just getting set up for the night. Junior himself was behind the bar, showing a waiter through the drinks selection. He turned when Russel called and beamed at the young huntsman.

“Russel, good to see you back! I didn't think I'd see you around with the twins on vacation.”

“Vacation?”

“They took the money and a month off as soon as I didn't need them. I can understand getting out of Vale after what when down.”

“Well, I might have something for you then. These four are training with me at Beacon this year, but they need some lien.”

“And you came to me?”

“They need cash in hand. Get them to tell you the story, it's a good one.”

Junior turned to the four Warboys. “I'm Hei Zhong, or Junior or Sir if you're working for me. You all know how to fight?”

“We've all been killing Grimm since our twelfth year. All of us are on our second life.” replied Bent.

“Yeah, killing Grimm is good, but I need to keep the people here alive. What are you going to do if someone pulls a knife on you?” Junior gestured to another man in a black suit and red glasses who was leaning on the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lump of metal, which rotated as he flicked his hand, it's handles coming apart and reforming to leave him with a short butterfly knife in hand. He stepped up to Bent with the blade forward, a simple knife-fighter's stance.

“That's not a knife.”

Bent reached for a hardened leather pocket on the thigh of his pants, and popped the clasp open to free what was inside. He drew out a blade that was nearly as long as his thigh by it's handle of polished bone. The blade itself was ground from the leaf springs of a ute, a sweeping recurve and single fuller. Then it had been chromed, because everything looked better chromed. Had Bent needed to shave he could have used it as both razor and mirror. He idly pointed it at the well-dressed gangster.

“This is a knife.”

The gangster sat down on the closest chair and flicked his hand to refold the butterfly knife.

“Not bad. At least you don't panic. Now, can you look more intimidating? More like hunstmen?” Junior asked

“Critty, take off your shirt.”

“But it's cold in here.”

“Off.”

Critty pulled both shirts he was wearing off over the top of his smooth head. He straightened up and rolled his shoulders, the motion making the implanted metal designs shift. The sun-in-wheel design took up most of his chest and the ridges formed by the metal pressing outwards stood out clearly against the white and hairless skin. Junior looked suitably impressed, and that was before he got to the scars acquired in a hard life before the second was earned.

“Yeah, you guys should do fine. I'll need two of you here from open till close, and I'd prefer the same two every time. 25 lien an hour each.”

“35” replied Bent. He still didn't have a good handle on how much a lien was worth, but he did have some idea of haggling.

“25. Cash in hand at the end of each night and a VIP card for each of you.”

“No paperwork?”

“No paperwork.”

“Good enough. You want us here tonight?”

“Yeah, you should all stick round for training. Jack here will show you through the club, introduce you round, show you what you are supposed to be doing.”

It was over eight hours later when they were allowed out, their first taste of night life complete.

“Well that was painful” started Mullyangah.

“We got lien, we didn't have to answer questions, nobody go hurt. Who else wants to do this with me?” asked Bent.

“I'll do it.” offered Critty. “It wasn't any worse then the workshops going full noise, and it warms up once the crowd came in.”

“I don't think much of their dancing. They all need lessons” stated Tarmac.

“Ok, so Critty and I are going to be up nights until Beacon starts. What are you two doing?”

“Spending all your lien of course.”

“On what?”

“I believe I heard Qrow mentioning 'beer and hookers'.”

 

The week before Beacon started, the dorms began to fill up properly. They were never going to be as full as they had been before the Fall, there were many that had fallen and would not be needing a room, and the usual intake had dropped without the draw of the history and security that the campus brought. The new team was a source of considerable discussion, and Tarmac took a great deal of pride in giving everyone who asked a slightly different story. With Bent and Critty working night shifts he would have gone crazy without the distraction of the new people. Mullyangah was collecting stories instead, often reading at the closest library. Which they couldn't get cards for, because they still didn't officially exist.

The timetable for the first semester was sent to all their scrolls, and after he had asked RWBY what a semester was it made a great deal of sense. The third year would be week-on, week-off classes, with the time off meant to be spent working as a huntsman either through the school or with others contacts that had been made over the first two years. Considering that BMCT's only contact was an alcoholic who worked exclusively for the school, that wouldn't be happening. Classes did look interesting. First semester was Large Unit Tactics, International Law and Small Business Management. From what he had picked up from the other students, they would be ahead a bit on Tactics, but were starting from well behind in everything else.

Susan had been moved outside a few days ago, and was kept covered in a tarp to hide from prying eyes but Tarmac still visited every day. How could he not after Yang came through and found him the parts they needed? Critty was mostly either asleep or at the Club which left him with unfamiliar tools in hand running wiring through his darling. The munitions and weapon workshops had been far from the main tower for safety reasons, and had mostly survived the Fall, which allowed him access to the tools he needed. At least nobody else had needed the angle grinder on the days he had spent trimming holes into the bodywork to mount the speakers themselves. Today was hooking the speakers to the amplifier, carefully sorting handfuls of identical cables to ensure that the outputs matched the physical location of the speakers. Tomorrow would be connecting the control head, then it would be ready for testing.

He reset the tarp over Susan, apologising as he did so for hiding her from the rays of the Witnessing Sun. The Sun was not the only witness, today he was being watched by Juane and Ren as he finished up.

“Were the two of you after something?”

It was Ren who answered, the quiet boy looking at Juane before he did so.

“We need to do something away from here.”

“Why would I know anything to do?”

“This place” Juane entered the conversation “feels too much like my first year. I've got a plan, just come with us.”

Tarmac shrugged his long oilskin coat back on, and the sidecutters and tape disappeared inside it's massive pockets.

“Sure.”

Juane led them to a gym a fair distance away from the buildings that now made up the school. Juane's Beacon ID got them free entry, and when they get inside Tarmac realises why they had come here. The interior doesn't have the weight racks he was expecting and combat rings, but rather is a chaotic spread of obstacles and bars. There were two kids with skateboards messing about in a half pipe in the far side of the room but it was otherwise deserted.

“Perfect. I was hoping it would be this empty.” says Juane “Warmups and stretches first, then a simple course. Say, over those two walls, backflip off that one, back over the bar...”

Ren was already working through stretches as Juane describes the path, Tarmac trying to match his movements. Tarmac always thought of himself as fit and fast, but as he flexes he finds that his body won't move the way Ren's does. Juane slapped him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, Ren's good at this. We'll make him go first.”

Ren straightens up from touching his toes and smiles slightly. Checking that Juane has his scroll out for timing, he takes off and flows through the obstacles, his body turning and twisting exactly how he needs it to. It feels like no time at all to Tarmac before Ren is back with them, panting slightly as he cools down. Juane reads out the time then hands the scroll off to Tarmac and starts.

Juane takes a different approach to Ren, brute force rather then mobility getting him past the first few obstacles, swapping between hands and feet to push himself past and through. He makes good time until he tries a backflip against a wall and only gets partway through. A second later he's face down on the mats, dust still rising from his impact. Tarmac laughs, surprised that the man who picked the course is so bad at it.

“Yeah? Lets see you do better.” said Juane as he came back and collected his scroll.

Tarmac takes the line, and starts off slower then Juane. He's watched two others go through the course and has a fair idea of what he is doing, but there's nothing this complicated in the deserts or the Spire to run through. He gains confidence as he runs, until he's two steps up the wall that Juane failed to backflip off and realises that he hasn't started the flip. His momentum lasts a third step, then stalls and he falls straight back down onto the mats. Juane is laughing and Ren is shaking his head at both of them, but Tarmac is smiling as well. He pays close attention as Ren walks him and Juane through the body motions to do the backflip, and by the time they gave up exhausted they had all made it through the course Juane picked at least once. Ren's time is two-thirds of his, but that just gave Tarmac a target to aim at next time.

 

The Friday before Beacon resumed, a package marked “Vacuoan Consulate” was left in the room. Inside were Vacuoan passports and messages from the Spire. Grimm attacks were down at home, and the ability to purchase instead of having to search for parts meant that life was improving for all within the Spire. There were also details for the account that had been started by Imperator Karst and a very direct request that a portion of anything they earned be deposited into it.

“Huh.” said Tarmac. “So this is the 'taxes' thing that I've been hearing about.”

“We all survived a first death, so maybe these 'taxes' aren't as certain either” said Mullyangah

“The Furiosa said pay, and we will pay.” said Bent “Once we start going on actual huntsmen missions.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons:
> 
> "Sink the Boot" is a sort of common phrase meaning to push hard on the accelerator.
> 
> "Full Noise" is another heavy machinery term. A machine running at full noise is one working as hard as it can, because the engine is making as much noise as it can.


	8. Back To School Special

Glynda's voice filled the impartial concrete space that had been set aside as the combat arena, washing over those that had come back to Beacon for their third year.

“Welcome to Large Unit Tactics. This course will be covering how to manage the defense of whole villages and small towns on your own. It will include basic leadership, organising civilians, fortifications and how to work in groups of dozens of hunters. For many of you it has been over a year since you have been here, and I would like to see some proof that you have not been slacking on your studies. Mr Bruce, if you would step into the marked circle.”

Bent looked at the others standing with him

“Ummm. Which Bruce?”

“You. We will work through the rest of your team shortly. And... Yes, Mr Winchester, you will face him.”

“Ohh, fight!” Ruby squealed from her spot at the front next to the Warboys.

“Break his legs!” called Nora

“Who's legs Nora?”

“I DON'T CARE!”

Cardin took his place near the centre of the circle and gently swung his mace as he loosened up. His armour had been polished to a dull gleam, heavy plates strapped to him and moving exactly as he did.

Bent dropped his oilskin in Mully's hands and strode out in just his armoured black pants and heavy boots. When he rolled his shoulders the scars and marks shifted across his back, drawing the eye to the water droplets tattooed as if they were dripping from under his left shoulderblade. His left hand held his boarding sword, a length of back iron sharpened on one side that was about half as tall as he was and about two-thirds of the way down the length had a vicious back-pointing spike coming out of it. He took a spot about two paces from Cardin and faced him, Cardin's eyes looking clear over the top of his bald head.

“If your aura drops into the red or you are knocked outside the ring, the match is over. No hitting a downed opponent. This is your only reminder. Begin.”

Cardin opened with a half pace slid-step forward and a gentle swing of his mace, just enough to force his opponent to move or block. Bent skittered back, still unsure of what he was doing. Cardin took another step forward and brought the mace back, faster this time. Bent remembered what he was doing and drew himself up onto his toes and started to move properly, legs spread and knees bent like getting ready to sway with the motion of Susan under him. He dodged the next two swings from Cardin, then tried a quick retaliation stroke. Cardin just turned slightly with the swing of his mace and let the blade slide off the curve of his pauldron. On the backswing Cardin forced Bent to block, not able to get out of his aborted strike before the mace came back. The two blades crashed and the mace easily pushed the sword out of the way.

Bent twisted the sword in his grip, forcing the boarding spike in between the flanges of the mace and trapping them together. He wasn't ready for Cardin to punch him in the face.

The blow made him sway back, and only the two damaged fingers kept his grip on his sword. He went with the sway, off leg sweeping back and turning him side-on to Cardin. As soon as he had his feet back under him he turned the blade again, freeing both weapons. Before Cardin could get his mace back up Bent struck again at the shoulder, getting the blade under the pauldron and doing some damage to Cardin's aura.

It was another four blows before Bent managed to trap the mace again. This time he dodged the punch he was expecting, but Cardin put his other hand on his mace's haft and twisted, the rotation pulling the blade from Bent's hand. Bent watched it go across the concrete floor away from him, and started to doge in earnest while opening the long pocket over his left thigh.

Cardin wasn't surprised by the extra weapon, but moved with more surety now. The knife was big but not big enough to outdistance or block a mace. Bent sidestepped to get himself back in the centre, and took a few paces back to build up some distance. As Cardin moved in Bent leapt, managing to get over the top of the mace and plant his feet in Cardin's armour-plated chest. Cardin barely moved with the impact, him and his armour outweighing Bent significantly, but Bent let his knees collapse as he hit as if he was rolling with the fall and managed to get over the top of Cardin, grabbing his gorget and stabbing at the back of his head. Cardin's aura screeched with the impact as it turned the blade, and he let himself fall backwards onto Bent.

Bent hit the ground hard, the leather and metal patchwork on his pants not enough to stop Cardin's weight from crushing his legs. Just as he was trying to get his breath back Cardin rolled off and pushed himself upright. Bent was just getting his knees back under him when Cardin's mace crashed into his chest.

“That's the match.” called Goodwitch.

Cardin reached down with his free hand and pulled Bent back upright after that last blow had dropped him onto his back again.

“You don't get to fight against people much do you?”

“My sentiments exactly.” Goodwitch finished. “You can fight to a standard that would barely have gotten you accepted as a first year. The rest of your team will be up shortly so I can see exactly what I am working with, and you will be working on this outside of school hours before I let you accept any combat missions.”

In short order, Mullyangah went against Yang, catching her with the first two spears before she dodged the third and then punched him out of the ring, Critty tried to fend off Ren with a ring spanner and a torsion bar lasting even less time then Mully and Tarmac made the best showing out of all of them, tricking Sky into a chokehold before he shot and snapped the chain and punted Tarmac out of the arena with a rising kick. BMCT regrouped at the front and muttered amoung themselves as Glynda started lecturing about where huntsmen fitted into the command structure of the Kingdom of Vale.

“That went shit. We were about as useful as a one legged man in an arse-kicking competition” Bent summed up their whole performance.

“People are a lot harder to kill then Grimm. I'm not used to facing something that thinks beyond it's next meal” said Mully.

“I'm not exactly sure why we're being trained to fight Grimm by beating up other people.” said Critty.

“Still, we need to get good enough to be allowed out, or Susan's going to sit under that tarp for the whole year.” said Tarmac.

“So, more practice. Anything else?” asked Bent

“I need a new length of chain.” said Tarmac.

“Practice and weapons.”

 

The hard part was not getting people to fight them, it was getting people to actually _train_ them. In the end it was the least skilled of those they knew that provided what they needed.

“So, you're already stronger and better then I was when I started, you just need to learn how to fight people.” said Juane to the collected Warboys in the currently unused training ring. “I'm going to talk you through how things are different when fighting people, and then I'll officiate some sparring between you. Later on I'll arrange for practice against others so that you get some experience against lots of different types of weapons.”

Juane took to the lessons with a surprising zeal, occasionally referring to a video on his scroll as he talked about how a human body moved and how to read an opponent in a fight. When the sparring started, he searched out competition videos of others using similar weaponry, looking for pointers on how to use them and ideas for how to combine them into a functional team.

 

Critty approached the next problem with his customary lack of caution. He approached it by approaching Ruby while she was working on Crescent Rose in the armoury.

“Hey, Ruby. As you may have noticed me and Tarmac kind of need new weapons. Do you know where we go to get them?”

“You all need new weapons. Your weapons are boring and lame.” she said without looking up.

“But where can we get new ones? Cheaply, seeing as I can't show up to my job anymore.”

“That I can help you with. I will require payment.”

“Payment?”

Ruby finished whatever she was working on, and suddenly Crescent Rose was in her hands and unfolding to it's full scythe function. The back of the blade pocked Critty in his chest.

“Payment in COOKIES.” she said, finally looking up at the intruder. “Oh man that worked perfectly and it was so cool.” Her squeeing completely ruined the aura of power and threat she had managed to build. Crescent Rose refolded itself and Ruby tucked it into the magnetic mount on her back.

“Beacon provides the workshop and the tools. Just bring cookies, parts and an awesome idea on the weekend after I get back. ”

 

The first week off saw them all encamped in the local library, having claimed a study room and every beginner book they could find. Critty was teaching the others how to study as in the Spire only the Blacktongues went beyond “Get Good or Die” as a teaching method. They were working on International Law, which meant starting with what a Nation was, what International was, and what Law was. By the end of the week they hoped to actually start on the coursework.

“Alright, so we start at the top. First we need some definitions so we know where to look next. For that we start with either an encyclopedia or a dictionary. The encyclopedia was massive, so I grabbed the dictionary. Somebody can go and get it if we need it.”

Hours later all they had managed was to start an argument over how a female led dictatorship was clearly the best form of government and so why wasn't everybody else using it. This got them kicked out for the day. With nothing better to do, they went back to Beacon and sat in on Goodwitch's first year combat class. An afternoon of watching the few beginners that had chosen to come to Beacon beat each other senseless with far more skill then any of the Warboys possessed didn't help. Neither did Goodwitch's call to stay after class. Once she had chased off the beginners she turned to BMCT.

“Junior said that you had been working as bouncers for him before the semester started. He also said that he wants all of you back tonight.”

“You don't care that we're working in a nightclub?” asked Bent.

“Junior runs a good operation, and I don't really care what you do so long as you do it somewhere that is not here.”

“Fair enough.”

The walk to The Club went slowly, filled with arguments over fighting and learning. They were so far from everything they had known, and the cracks were beginning to show.

“Enough!” yelled Bent. “We were sent forth by the Furiosa for exactly this. We are here to learn what to do with a world so much larger then we ever imagined. We will not fail because we cannot agree with each other.”

“No matter how far we go, the same Sun witnesses all we do. I don't think it's impressed at the moment.” Tarmac replied apologetically.

The doormen to The Club let them straight through, even though this was long before regular opening hours. Junior was already there tidying behind the bar.

“Finally! Just because you kids have to go to school doesn't mean I stop needing bouncers.”

“Is this going to be a big night? Is that why you asked for all of us?”

“No, I've got something special going on that I need help with. Bent, Critty, do your usual. You other two, come with me.”

Junior collected a few of his interchangeable goons on the way to a back room, where he seated everybody around a small table and brought up an overhead projector with some taps on his scroll. Images of people and places cycled on the wall.

“This is someone new trying to move in to my city. They're an Atlesian smuggling group, mostly move guns out and drugs in. They have some hold in Vacuo, and I'm guessing they heard that things were getting back under control here and thought it was time to expand. I have arranged for a friendly meeting, you know, getting to know the new neighbours. Some mutual threatening and posturing and we should all be back in time for tea.”

The display changed to a map, zooming into a specific parking lot in an industrial area before Junior spoke again.

“This is where we will be meeting. We'll be pulling up here, then most of us will walk in to meet them, Mully will be next to me as he's my show of force for this. Tarmac will stay with the vehicles as backup should we need it. They should be coming in from the north entrance. Remember, I don't pay you people to talk.”

Mully and Tarmac nodded gently in response.

 

It was hours later and fully dark when they were at the meeting place. Dust powered lamps on poles cast long shadows across the expanse of black and shone off the white painted lines indicating where to park. Tarmac gazed at it through the back door window of Junior's black four-door sedan. Junior was in the front offside, and Mullyangah was in the other rear seat. A nondescript van had followed them carrying the other goons. Both vehicles were parked at the limits of sight from the meeting place, their shiny black finishes hard to pick out from the gloom and scattered light.

“Alright, time to make an entrance. Everybody out” called Junior. He then spent several minutes organising his goons for maximum presence before walking out and standing under one of the few lights, Mullyangah at his side with spears and Woomera out. Tarmac watched from his perch on the bonnet of the sedan, one of the two goons that had stayed back puffing on a cigarette next to him. He watched as a grey SUV pulled up on the far side of the carpark, and a man in a dark grey pinstripe walked around to open both back doors.

The two who stepped out were classic Atlesian. Tall, pale skin, light hair. Three pieces suits of shades of grey in a matching style covered them both, making them look close enough to be brothers. They walked straight up to Junior with the grunt who had opened the door two paces behind like an obedient servant. There was what was obviously general introductions, but anything beyond that was lost in the distance. Tarmac watched Mully's spear butt as it tapped against his bare foot instead. It tapped out the same rhythm as was used for Grimm sightings in a convoy.

“Guys, grab your guns. This is about to go tits up” Tarmac said, throwing himself across the bonnet of the sedan to the drivers side. The goons were still looking at him in surprise when he pulled the door open and dropped into the drivers seat. Then they looked back to Junior as two more SUV's pulled up and disgorged more grey suited grunts, this time not even trying to hide their guns.

Mullyangah disappeared, simply fading into the blackness with long practice at hiding from things that were far better trackers then any human. Junior swore loudly and swept his baseball bat up from where he had hidden it behind one of his legs. A low strike put one of the better dressed pair on their back, then Junior turned and ran as his baseball bat started to reconfigure into the rocket launcher that was it's secondary form. He slowed and turned, staying for long enough to let off a single rocket that went through the open door of one of the SUV's before detonating inside and setting off the internal dust tank. A glorious fireball light up all the fleeing forms as what was meant to be an execution turned into an uncontrolled disaster. One of those forms stopped with sharpened length of wood growing out of it. The fireball reflected off Mully's teeth for an instant, before he stopped smiling and faded into the dark again.

Junior dived through the open front passenger door and slammed it behind him, calling to Tarmac in the driver's seat

“I heard you were good at this. Drive!”

Tarmac adjusted the rear view mirror

“If you had”

He moved the unfamiliar gearstick through a H-pattern, finding it's limits

“heard that I was”

He tapped the accelerator, listening to the engine revs change

“good at this”

Accelerator down, clutch up

“you have been”

The bonnet rose as the engine strained against the hand brake

“sorely misinformed”

His hand on the brake pushed it all the way down, drive wheels suddenly spinning against the bitumen surface

“because I am”

Shortly before the turn onto the road, the wheel went hard right and his hand on the brake moved slightly. Rear wheels lost traction and the whole car slid sideways. A tap of the clutch brought the drive wheels back under control.

“fucking awesome.”

Tarmac took the sedan in rapid circuit, maps flicking through his mind as he found a way behind the nearest building. As soon as he was out of sight of the ongoing firefight, he reefed on the handbrake and threw the sedan into a u-bolt. Seconds later he could see the parked SUV's again, lit by wavering flames from their burning brother. He picked his line with care, giving Junior another nice clean shot. When the second SUV detonated Tarmac swerved then over corrected, flipping the sedan through 180 degrees without bleeding much of the momentum. He pumped the clutch and gearshift, the vehicle slipping easily into reverse and then he floored it. A handful of rounds caught the boot, but then they were past, and Junior was leaning out the window with his rocket launcher braced and a broad smile. When one of the braver ones at the back curled up around a spear that had punctured through his gut, guns were thrown down. Junior's goons reappeared from the places they had managed to hide.

“There you lot are! Now help me strip this lot so we can send them home.” Junior called.

Junior had let the survivors walk home, taking the last SUV for himself and piling all the collected weapons into the back. As well as what had been carried, there were two cases of extra ammunition and explosives. Tarmac got to drive it back, while Mullyangah rode in the back of the sedan. Once everything was hidden back inside the garages under The Club, the uninjured reconvened in the same meeting room as before. The group was only down two members, and both were expected to be up and about in a few days.

“Well that was just brilliant! We try and be nice and neighbourly, try and keep the peace in our city that has suffered so much, and what do we get?” Junior ranted on in fine form “What do we even call that? What do we call that?”

“I'd call it a fustercluck” suggested Tarmac.

“I think that was work above and beyond what was requested, certainly deserving of bonus pay.” said Mully with a carefully expressionless face.

Junior stared at the two Warboys, as if he couldn't believe their audacity. Then he shrugged.

“I've made a enemy of an arms smuggling ring and my favourite car has bullet holes in it, but none of mine are dead and there's enough heat to keep anybody from showing their faces around here for a while.” Junior started to count off lien from a stack that appeared out of his vest pocket.

“Actually, can we get paid in goods?” asked Mully.

“Yeah. We want first crack at the weapons you brought back.” said Tarmac, supporting his teammate.

“Fine, take what you like.” Junior said “But, on the condition that you don't tell Glynda anything about what happened tonight.”

“Of course Boss. What she doesn't know can't hurt us.”

 

The walk back to Beacon was even slower then the walk out, but in much better spirits. The reason for both was the reinforced ammo case of guns, knives and bullets that Tarmac and Mullyangah were carrying between them.

“I hope Ruby isn't going to ask any questions about where all this came from.” said Bent.

“I have a plan for that!” said Critty.

“I don't even know what it is, and I already know it's stupid.” replied Bent.

“I was just going to buy extra cookies, and force-feed her one every time she starts to ask difficult questions.”

“That's... Nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. Replace 'force-feed' with 'bribe' and we'll go with that.”

With it being five in the morning when they got back, it wasn't hard to sneak the case of guns onto the school and hide it under a bed, there to sit until RWBY came back from what ever they were up to and Ruby could help in the workshop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons
> 
> U-Bolt - A u-turn, usually implying that it was done fast and/or dangerously.
> 
> Also, some time spent with the Mad Max fandom has resulted in a disagreement over whether it's Black Tongue or Black Thumb. Seeing as I've already written a huge pile of this I'm sticking with Black Tongue referring the ability to speak the language of machines, rather then a reference to gardening.
> 
> And a special request to the tiny handful of regular readers: Is this working? I'm trying things, and I don't know how they're coming across because I can't step outside the work and see it without the headcanon that I've built up. So, do you understand who each of the OC Warboys are and their role in the team? How are their interactions with the canon teams (remembering that those interactions will drop off over time)? How do the fight scenes come across? Am I forgetting or missing things from canon that I should be including? Is some of this coming across as filler? I mean, some of it totally is filler, but you're not supposed to be able to spot that.


	9. Wagging Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out early this week. I have to work again, and won't have an hour in the mornings to sort out that chapter posting. This should be the standard post time from now on and I'll update the summary to match.

Ruby stared at the contents of the reinforced case sitting on the floor of the workshop.

“Where did you get this? Are these all Atlesian guns?”

“Ruby...” started Bent, before being interrupted.

“Is that a pile of grenades?”

“Ruby, it's times like these you need to ask yourself what is really important in your life” he continued smoothly “and is that finding out where a group of warriors got their hands on the tools of their trade, or getting to this second packet of cookies before I eat all the Monte Carlos?”

He had gotten the first cream-filled biscuit halfway to his mouth when the rest of the package disappeared in a shower of rose petals and Ruby's mouth was stuck together with sweets.

“You make a convincing argument.” Another cookie entered her endless maw. “Get all the gear out, let's see what I have to work with here.”

In short order the collection was spread over the benches. There were two SMGs sitting together, a fine collection of pistols, more knives then they could use and a mecha-shift blade that had clearly been intended as a huntsman weapon at some point. Ruby flickered between them, stripping them apart and checking internal mechanisms

“What sort of plans do you have? Are they awesome?”

“Ever heard of a hydraulic wrench?” asked Critty.

“An adjustable wrench that uses hydraulic pressure to keep it's size? What use is one of those?”

“Because if you help me make a hydraulic wrench big enough to hit people with that has a fold out blade and an adjustable screwdriver, I'll be able to throw out most of my toolbox.”

“Are you actually going to throw out your toolbox?” asked Tarmac.

“Yeah, nah. Never stand between a man and his tools.”

“Are you going to install a gun in it?” asked Ruby.

“Yeah, nah. Can't fix shit with a gun.”

Ruby pouted.

“Does anyone else have an idea? One that's more awesome then that.”

“I need a tougher length of chain. With a bladed weight on the end of it” said Bent

“But that's boring! You could buy that at a hardware store.” Ruby turned to the darkest member of the team “Come on Mully, you're my last hope.”

“I need a Wokali.” he spoke. “You would call it a shield, shaped like this” he sketched a tapered oval shape on bench “with the points sharpened to stab with, and some sort of mechanism which allows me to attach dust explosives to the heads of my spears. Also, my Woomera needs something like a spear fishing reel, something that makes it possible to get the spears back.”

Ruby swept back into the room and covered Mully in petals as she flashed next to him, flicking open a drawing book and scattering pencils as she started to sketch.

“So how big is it going to be? How will you hold it? Is it going to be red and black?” The questions swamped Mully, and he waited until she exhausted them before gently taking the drawing paper and showing her what he wanted. Behind them both, the door opened again.

“Oh-hohoho, I should have known you would be here Ruby, loving weapons almost as much as I did as a young huntsman.” Professor Port twisted his short and stocky body sideways to make it easier to get through the door, then his eyebrows rose in surprise. Not quite enough to reveal his eyes, but obviously enough to let him see. “And you've got our newest team here with you, as well as... A small gang's worth of guns?”

Tarmac and Mullyangah looked everywhere but at Professor Port.

“You must be teaching our visitors how to use the tools. This reminds me of the time I was first learning the trade of smithing to make my own weapons. My own teacher was the ...” Bent watched as Ruby turned away and physically dragged Mully back to working out what he needed. He didn't know how Ruby could miss this, listening to elders tell elaborate forgeries of their memories was the closest to non-violent entertainment that the Warboys got, and Professor Port was a master. Sure, his diction could use some work to put some variety into what he was saying, but he could exaggerate and filibuster like nobody else Bent had ever heard. He was seriously considering taking notes instead of helping Critty sort out which tools he wanted to incorporate into his multi-tool. Yes, a jack would be a good additional function for the hydraulics, no, something powerful enough to lift Susan would probably not fit into his hand.

Behind him, Ruby was explaining how to set up the packed sand molds for casting the blanks.

 

“Miss Rose!” Professor Port's voice boomed in the small room that was set aside for the business lectures. “I understand that this is nowhere near as interesting as my stories of killing Grimm in my youth, but how will you kill Grimm if you do not have enough money to eat?” It wasn't fair, Ruby thought. Port had never paid attention to his class before, so why was he so conscientious about teaching business? It wasn't her fault, even Weiss wasn't paying attention to this. Oh, yeah, Weiss grew up expected to be the heir to a multi-billion lien business supplying the majority of Dust to everywhere. She probably already knew all this. Wait, Weiss knew all this! She could get Weiss to teach her later. Conscience sated, she opened a notebook and started sketching designs for a mechanism that would allow standard heavy dust rounds to be attached to Mully's spearheads with an automatic ammo feed.

 

After their disastrous showing in the first lesson, BMCT rapidly managed to impress Goodwitch in her class. They had no experience with fighting other humans, but they were all old hands at fighting Grimm in large groups, defending either fixed or mobile targets. There were still some issues that Bent was dealing with, like the one that came up today.

“What do you mean I can't just arm everyone in the village?”

“Most villagers have never held a weapon or fought a Grimm before. Attempting to arm them would be counter-productive.”

“The Grimm are everywhere. Why would you not learn how to fight them?”

“Because that is what they have you for, Mr Bruce. Now, with only your team, describe how you would protect the village shown on the board.”

 

Sourcing a pair of thin dust-powered hydraulic rams for Critty required yet more favours from Junior. Getting favours from Junior wasn't hard, because the Atlesian smuggling group hadn't taken their initial loss well. Melanie and Militia still had not made it back into the city and Junior was trying to hide the slowly escalating war from Glynda, so Mullyangah and Tarmac often found themselves spending late nights watching out over gang activity. Junior was too well protected within The Club, and the smugglers had no local command to attack, so the two sides spent most of their time trying to disrupt each other's minor activities. That left a lot of time for talking, like now while they relaxed against a cargo container looking over the docks.

“Do you ever think over that first night with Junior?” asked Tarmac.

“What part of it?” replied Mullyangah.

“It's the first time that a person's died and it's been my fault. People die to accident and exposure and Grimm, not us. I'm kind of glad the Sun wasn't up to witness it.”

“It was almost too easy.” mused Mully. “Animals run, Grimm fight. The two that I killed just stood there and took it. There's nothing right in something dying like that. Can't even use the corpse for anything like we would back at the Spire.”

“Mully, they didn't do anything because you stabbed them in the back by throwing a spear from a dozen paces away. They didn't even know you were there.”

“Once we started fighting I went straight to what I knew how to do. Should we have started fighting at all?”

“Mate, I don't think there were any good choices. Not after that first gun was pulled. Still doesn't make it a good one”

“Yeah, not a good choice... Hey, you think those guys climbing out of the water are smugglers?”

“Well, they're doing a piss poor job of playing deep square leg.” said Tarmac as he gathered his new length of Dust-forged chain around his arm. “I'll go ask the question, you get ready for them to run.”

 

In a reverse from the earlier courses, it was now Doctor Oobleck that had to be kept on topic during lectures rather then Port. A line he constantly repeated in his class was “Laws are written in the blood of historical events” and his passion for history shone through every time he had a chance to talk about the events that led up to the drafting of a law. While each kingdom trained their own hunters, they owed no kingdom allegiance after graduation and could be found traveling all over Remnant. So the good Doctor was covering relevant standardised international law and the organisations that created them. When he wasn't waxing lyrical about some specific event.

Today it was Weiss' turn to keep him focused, the current topic of transport and maritime law being something that she knew most of already and so she knew exactly what to ask to get him back onto topic. Critty and Mullyangah were scribbling down everything they could as he spoke, Bent already having zoned out with a blank look and Tarmac spending far more time paying attention to the map on the back wall as Doctor Oobleck covered the topic of Exclusive Economic Zones and how that affected travel and shipping.

 

Ruby and Dove were supervising as Mullyangah used one of the pneumatic hammers to turn the blank for his shield into the shape and thickness he was after. The handle on the back had been cast in as part of the blank and gave him something clear of the hammer to hold as it flattened out the Dust-forged steel and added the slight curve that it needed. At the next bench Critty was using finer tools to build hydraulic internal mechanisms for a pair of over sized shifters.

“So what has your team been doing since the fall?” asked Ruby.

“Holding the line. It took weeks after the day before we could get enough of a clearing to start rebuilding the wall. Even once the wall was back up, attacks were more common and harsher then they had been before. You were lucky to get out when you did, everybody who stayed behind was basically drafted.” replied Dove.

“Surely they let you back out once the wall was back up and the militia started holding it again.”

“I don't think you realise just how many we lost that night. You were out of it for weeks and disappeared straight after. For a period Junior's goons _were_ the militia. It certainly helped him with Glynda.”

“Ewww, I don't want to think about my teacher doing that.”

“Well, rather then kick everybody else out of the dorm, sometimes Sky and I head back to his parent's place after class.”

“That's not any better!” Ruby shouted, shaking her hands in front of her face as if she could physically block herself from seeing the images in her imagination.

“We've seen the way you and Juane are around each other. Just letting you know things you might need soon.” Dove said with a broad smile.

“Yeahhh, you know how his last relationship ended.”

Dove's face fell. “So he's?”

“Well, one time while we were on the road and couldn't get haircuts, Nora put her hair into a ponytail. She kept it for about an hour before Ren made her take it out, but it was five days before Juane could look at her again.”

“I'll tell the others not to mention her around him.”

“Can we talk about anything else? Like what did you end up doing for your last mission?”

“The Winchester name is good for some things. Cardin got us a regular role doing security for a farming village well north of here that his family is heavily involved in. We're trading off with a fourth year team who does the other weeks.”

“That sounds way better then us. We just took easy stuff as pairs through the school. How was it? Lots of Grimm?” Ruby was bouncing with excitement.

“That's the thing. There's less Grimm. Usually you would clear an area and they would be back within the week, crawling out of where ever it is they come from towards the people. But it's taking longer for the numbers to build back up. They're still just as aggressive when you see one, but you don't see them as often anymore.”

“That's good right? Hang on. Mully! Let me have a look at that.”

Mullyangah pulled the shield out from under the hammer and let his foot off the pedal that was controlling it. Ruby took it from him and ran her hands over it, feeling for thickness and then rapping her knuckles against it.

“This feels good. It's about right for thickness and hardness, and bigger then you wanted. Switch that off and I'll get you set up on the grinding wheels.”

Ruby choose an appropriate diamond wheel and locked it into one of the bench grinders, doing the first few passes as she explained how to use the wheel and what sort of finish he was after. Once Mully was comfortable with the shield in his hands again she stepped back and looked over Critty's work. He was up to testing, slight shifts of his hands on the grips causing the jaws of the shifters to open and close. Satisfied that both were working, he started on the spring loaded locking mechanism that would hold the short blade.

 

Early one evening during the next off week, just after Glynda had chased the small class of first years out her makeshift combat ring, BMCT approached her in Warboy regalia. Black combat pants clattered with armour plating as they walked. Mismatched boots struck sparks as hobnails caught. Weapons were carried openly. They had even gone so far as to smear oil around their eyes, despite the lack of sun indoors to glare in their eyes. They stood and faced her as the elite soldiers of a beset culture that they had not been since they had boarded the cargo ship over a month ago.

“Mr Bruce. Classes have finished for the day.”

“ _Legate_ Bruce.” Bent corrected. “You said to see you when we were ready to fight. We're here.” He tapped the concrete floor with the tip of his boarding sword and it rung, the sounds disappearing in the space around them.

“Very well.” said Glynda, and from his spot at the back Mullyangah had to use Wokali to knock a folding chair that glowed purple out of the air as it swept at them from behind.

They separated immediately into pairs, one of each watching backwards, the other facing the Witch. Glynda continued to probe with flying furniture, trying to keep them from surrounding her easily. Once they had managed to get far enough apart so that Glynda could not watch both at once Tarmac took half a pace forward and swept outwards with his chain. The weighted blade on the end hummed low and loud as it moved, giving Glynda plenty of warning to turn towards it and deflect it with her crop. That was the plan, as Mullyangah flicked his wrist holding Woomera, and flung a spear towards her. It stuck straight into a chair that had begun moving to cover her back before she had turned. Mully pulled back, returning the spear to him and hitting the chair off it with Wokali. Tarmac pulled on the chain to keep the momentum going, and Bent ducked under it without even having to look.

A glance back allowed Glynda to aim a larger bench towards Mully and Critty. Mully went over and Critty went under, but in the distraction Glynda seized the end of the chain with her semblance and stepped towards Tarmac.

As soon as the noise stopped Tarmac was ducking, holding the chain taut against the frozen end. Bent went over the top, Tarmac's aura flashing as hobnails caught into his shoulder. Bent's second step was onto the chain itself, and the boarding sword came overhead, adding gravity to the strike against Goodwitch. She deflected the blade easily with her crop and backhanded Bent in the ribs with her other hand. The chain clattered to the floor as she released it, but Bent twisted and grabbed at her free hand as he fell the rest of the way. A hand grown strong from holding onto rollcages over broken dunes locked around her wrist and would have pulled her off balance had she not seized Bent in her semblance. The dull roar of the blade at the end of the chain warned her of what was coming and she moved Bent to block the swing. Rather then try and stop the attack, Tarmac stepped forward and the chain caught Bent in the side, the bladed tip turning sharply against this new fulcrum and the edge of it just catching Glynda's aura. It completed it's new arc wrapping around Bent before a flick on the chain caused the last link to wrap around itself. Locked around Bent's body like that, Tarmac hauled on it and tried to pull him out of danger. Glynda helped, throwing Bent at his teammate, then immediately turning and pushing a wooden spear off course with the back of her free hand.

Her crop caught the blade deployed from the shifter in Critty's good hand, and an aura powered flick of her wrist pushed it out of the way. The second blade stabbed in and was also deflected by her crop, then the first came back for another strike. As it came in, Critty rolled it in his fingers, and rather then pushing a sharpened edge the crop fell into the jaws of the shifter. With a squeeze of his hand Critty caused the shifter to tighten and it locked around Glynda's crop.

He let go of it straight away, swapping his second weapon into his good hand and stepping back to let Mully cast another spear towards Glynda. Glynda dropped into a deep squat to dodge this one, her free hand trying to work the mechanism on the shifter to free it from her crop and her semblance moving another pair of chairs, one aimed at Critty and the other aimed at where she could hear Bent and Tarmac separating. Bent swatted his out of the sky with the flat of his sword, but Critty was taken by surprise, paying too much attention to what Glynda was doing with his weapon. The chair took his legs out from under him and he was forced to roll in order not to fall on his face, which took him away from Mully.

Bent came in again immediately after blocking the chair, trying to take advantage of her not being able to use her crop. She sidestepped around him, putting her back to Critty, and moved again with the next swing, leaving Bent standing in front of Mully and blocking any strikes from him. She finally figured out the motions of the shifter, loosening it and dropping it on the floor at her feet before using her newly freed crop to block another swing of Bent's sword. She stepped forward into the block when she heard the swing of Tarmac's chain, turning slightly so that any attack at her would catch Bent first. The pitch of the roarer changed slightly, and then it stopped with a metallic clink and a scraping noise. Tarmac hadn't been aiming at her, instead he had flicked the dropped shifter away from where she had been standing and Critty dove to collect it and to join up with Tarmac.

Bent and Mully advanced as a pair, Wokali in Mully's left hand between them to cover both. Woomera was hanging from his belt and he held a spear overhead in his right. The boarding sword hung in a fool's guard from Bent's left hand, relying on Wokali to cover him. Glynda met them head on, stepping up and pulling one of the fallen chairs into the way against Mully's spear. Bent's sword swept up, only to be pushed aside by her crop. Then Bent twisted his wrist and the spike on the back of the sword smacked into her hand. With her semblance and weapon tied up, Mully shifted his grip inside Wokali and stabbed the sharpened edge towards her open chest. It wasn't a strong blow, but Glynda was forced to block it with an open palm and aura, taking the hit.

The chair she held with her semblance rotated while still holding the spear and smacked Mully in the face. Her hand holding the crop rotated, slipping around the sword and freeing her up for a palm strike to Bent's chest. Both of them stumbled back a few steps. Then the long bench from before made a return sweep and distracted both of them.

She turned again, blocking a swing of one of Critty's blades with an open palm against his wrist. He tried to turn the blade to bring it against her arm but she stepped in and he had to switch to stopping her crop with the blade in his off hand. Then she stepped and lightly spun, using her free hand to catch Tarmac's chain wrapped fist as it came for her. Tarmac immediately swung with the other fist, but a movement of her crop brought it into contact with Critty's offhand blade. Only the chain stopped it from digging into Tarmac's flesh. Glynda pulled the same trick the other way when Critty stabbed again, then a third time with Tarmac's next punch. Tarmac's punch didn't hit a blade this time, but rather pushed a link of his chain into the jaws of the shifter. Critty passed it from shifter to shifter as Tarmac blocked a blow from the crop with his remaining chained fist, then he flicked it out and around, curving the length he had managed to gather so that it dropped neatly into Tarmac's hand. Tarmac seized the loose end just behind the blade, then back stepped as fast as he could.

Glynda realised she was looped before it could catch her, but a one-two combination from Critty kept her from ducking out of it before the chain touched her skin. Her semblance froze it there in a purple haze, and she pushed Critty back with a stab from her crop. With the space she made a standing leap to well above the chain, with a chair slotting under her feet at the highest point. Her semblance raised the chair with her on it and as soon as she had all four Warboys in view she dropped her control over it and locked the Warboys into place. She landed lightly, knees bending to absorb the fall.

“Legate Bruce?”

Bent nodded to acknowledge her.

“Competent. You may choose assignments from the board at the start of the next week off.” Her semblance dropped from the four of them and she gestured at the scattered furniture. “You may also tidy this room. I would suggest being done quickly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons: A lot more then usual today.
> 
> Wagging Class is not showing up.
> 
> Monte Carlo in a biscuit is a type of cream-filled double biscuit, like an Oreo but not chocolate. If they're in a packet, that means that the packet is an Arnott's Assorted Creams, a stable of Australian morning teas. While we're on biscuits, American cookies are Australian biscuits. An American biscuit is what Australians call an English Muffin. Confused yet?
> 
> "Yeah, Nah" is a famous Australian phrase that makes perfect sense. It means "I have heard and understood what you said, but I disagree with you." We just compressed it as much as possible because we're lazy.
> 
> "Don't stand between a man and his tools" is a song by The Spooky Men's Chorale. It can be found here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqNAonCJEMM, and yes, that is the official music video. The Spooky Men's Chorale are an all male singing group based out of Lithgow in the Blue Mountains, not that far out of Sydney (not far by my standards, it's still 3 hours travel.)
> 
> Wokali is a Kaurna word for a war shield. It's also been spelt Wocalte to give you some idea of how much of a mess the spelling of Aboriginal words is. Anyway, the Kauna people (pronounced Kha-na) are local to the Adelaide plains in what is now South Australia. The shield described here is based on a specific one made recently for presentation to Lendlease (an Australian construction management company) for the respect they showed to the Kauna people during a series of major construction projects to the north of Adelaide. The shield itself is on display in the office of the Northern Connector project. Doing the research for that one, I found that the Kauna word for a spearthrower is Midla. I don't know where Woomera comes from. It should be set up that all of Mully's gear is named from the same language, but finding a full set of Aboriginal words is nearly impossible outside knowing an Aboriginal elder and getting both words to start with a Wo- sound was too good to pass up. Still, I've explained it here and I'm not meaning to be disrespectful, even though as this is one of very few works of fiction containing Australian Aboriginal culture I really should be holding myself to a higher standard.
> 
> "Deep Square Leg" is a fielding position in Cricket, which is that English bat and ball game that's like Baseball but more. More players, more field, more balls bowled, more boring. Square Leg is an important position, as it's level with the facing batsman, square to the pitch on the batsman's leg side. This is the easiest place to send the ball when it is hit, so it's the position that has the most riding on them. Deep Square Leg is like Square Leg, but further from the batsman.
> 
> Bullroarers are a fairly common stone age tool, they're just more famous in Australia because they were still in active use when the English first started seriously colonising the country. It's a shaped weight at the end of a rope that roars as it is swung in circles. The reason they are so useful is because the noise is loud and deep, while also manipulable. A bullroarer can be used to "talk" to somebody over huge distances. Throwing in yet another Aboriginal cultural group, the Wiradjuri of central NSW/Blue Mountains have an elder being (sort of, most of these concepts would take far more words to explain properly) called Daramulun who is said to inhabit the bullroarers, specifically only a bullroarer cut from a tree that carries part of his soul will roar properly. So that's what Tarmac's weapon is called and I'll get around to including that in the story next chapter.
> 
> "Fool's Guard" is the first time I've had to use a swordfighting term, and this is based more on vague memories because I was always an archer. The fool's guard is one of 5(?) basic guards for a long or shortsword, where the blade is left down and behind you, tip close to the ground. It's a good attacking position because you can get more lead time to the swing and it comes from a direction that is harder to defend from, but you can't block while you're using it. Hence, Fool's Guard.


	10. Employment Agency

“Tarmac, you've got mail.”

“Who would send me a letter?”

“The” Bent flipped the letter over to look at the letterhead “Vacuan Embassy. It's probably important.”

“Fine, fine. Hand it over.” Tarmac opened the thick letter and sorted through the pages that fell out. “Huh. Bent, you remember all that time you spent dealing with paperwork? You want some more of that?”

“Yeah, nah. Need to go over this concept of a 'business case' for Port's class. Or, you know, do _anything_ but deal with more bureaucracy.”

“Your loss. One of these sheets says that I've got 'recognition of prior learning' for my driving, and I just have to show up to the Vale Road and Maritime Services with it and pass a practical driving exam and they'll let me drive.”

“Don't you already drive Junior's cars?”

“Yeah, but me driving is the least illegal thing going on with those cars.”

“Well, deal with it. Take Critty when you can find him.”

Critty was in his usual habitat when he wasn't required to be somewhere else, organising tools in the workshop. His current project was unfolding pull-down overhead cabinets which Ruby had suggested when she realised that his boredom could be weaponised to her benefit.

“Pack it up, Bent says you're with me.”

“What are we doing?”

“Getting me a driver's licence.”

“That doesn't sound too bad. What's the next stop?”

The next stop was Junior's. While the man himself lived on night shifts to be seen as the face of his club, there were always goons around looking after the day to day work of a leading figure in Vale's underworld. The two guarding the entrance to the underground garage recognised the warboys and relaxed. When Tarmac explained what they needed, there was a quick game of rock-paper-scissors and the loser opened the doors.

“We'll take the white hatchback, it's clean. Critty, you'll have to sit in the back.” he explained as he grabbed the keys and signed out the vehicle. Junior didn't become the greatest Valean information broker by skimping on the paperwork. Tarmac caught the keys and did a quick walkaround check on the vehicle before the three folded themselves inside, the goon offering directions to the nearest office of the Valean Road and Maritime Services. In between, he explained just what would be waiting for them.

“It can't be that bad.” suggested Critty.

Half an hour later, Critty was forced to admit that it was that bad. The seats were uncomfortable, the place was loud and to say the line moved slowly was to imply that it moved at all. Junior's goon had already fallen asleep. Critty had started to investigate the chair, looking for how they were put together with an eye to dissembling it for fun. Tarmac was reading his way through the provided pamphlets and learning all about the responsibilities of boat owners in the Vale Harbour.

Later again, Critty had given in to despair on finding that the chairs looked like a single piece of plastic because they were a single piece of molded plastic and was now staring with glazed eyes at the ceiling. Tarmac had branched out in his reading, and was currently on the aged care benefits available to citizens of Vale who had lived over 65 years. Tarmac hadn't realised people could get that old. Somebody new was getting served.

So this is what eternity felt like, thought Tarmac. A single unchanging moment spread across forever like the sand of the desert. Simple patterns forming and reforming but nothing meaningful being created.

“S341” stated an artificial voice “S341”.

Tarmac blinked the ennui of philosophy out of his eyes and refocused on the tiny ticket he had been given when he came in. Yes, those were the numbers that had just been called on it. He stumbled upwards, legs complaining about the movement after so long without any demands on them. This was worse then even eight hour shifts behind the wheel. With legs working again, he made his way to the counter and dropped the pile of paperwork on it in front of the bored office worker behind it.

“Hello, what are you here for today.” The complete lack of emotion or inflection in the voice made it impossible to call what was said a question.

“I'm here to sit a driving test.”

“I'll have to see some identification, and a completed logbook of your hours so far.”

Tarmac shuffled the paperwork, pushing his passport and the recognition of prior learning form through the gap under the plastic barrier. The worker looked at the forms in confusion.

“I'm going to have to call my supervisor.”

Tarmac just rested his elbows on the counter, dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

It did not take long for the supervisor to come, but then the supervisor had to make a call to the Vacoun Consulate to confirm some of the paperwork which took even more time. Tarmac looked back and saw that Critty had started drooling in his seat, while their goon hadn't moved since he first sat down and fell asleep. Eventually they asked for money and looked surprised when Tarmac sorted through lien cards to pay. With an appropriately sized stack changing hands, he was finally allowed back outside to meet to driving inspector.

The woman holding the clipboard in the parking lot was the oldest that Tarmac had ever seen. When she introduced herself Tarmac had to restrain himself from calling her 'Mother'. The honourific meant something very different here and they had only made that mistake once. She made positive sounds when Tarmac went straight into a prestart inspection of the vehicle, explaining what he was checking and how as he did so. This continued inside even to testing the seatbelts before they sat down.

When instructed to, Tarmac pulled out of the yard and followed every rule, even stopping at the idiot trap of the stop sign at the exit of the carpark. He kept meticulously below the speed limit, indicated properly at every corner, steered hand over hand and kept both hands on the steering wheel except for when he needed to change gears. When asked to, he reverse parallel parked exactly as the guidebook he had found described it. In exactly the minimum time required, he was parking again in the lot around the RMS building with a glowing recommendation from the instructor.

The process of getting the card was over in far less time then he had spent waiting for it to start. A photograph and another stack of lien handed over and he was the proud owner of a Valean driving licence with his face on it. On the way out he kicked Critty and the goon to wake them up. Then he kicked Critty again, because warboys had an unsurprisingly high pain tolerance. Back at the car, he took the learner plates off the front and back, and threw them into a nearby trash can.

“So, how was it?” asked Critty.

Tarmac sat down in the driver's seat, carefully centered himself and placed both hands on the steering wheel in the correct positions, then he screamed, short and loud.

“I have never been so frustrated behind the wheel! We were not raised to fit into this mess of rules, we were raised to fight and die gloriously.”

Tarmac started the engine and repositioned his hands, one at the top of the steering wheel and the other resting on top of the gearstick. He breathed in and out, turned on the stereo, released the handbrake and pushed the car into first gear. A single foot sat across the brake and accelerator pedals, holding the car in place as the revs built, then rocking sideways and letting the car go at the point just before the wheels would have slipped on release. This time he didn't stop at the sign exiting the carpark.

After a time significantly less then should have been possible following the posted speed limits, Tarmac slotted the small hatchback into it's spot in Junior's garage. The keys were returned to a now wide awake goon, and Tarmac and Critty walked out in a much better mood then they had been since setting foot in the RMS. The walk back to Beacon was filled with talk of other things, inanities and comments on the Vale that they knew. When they arrived back at their dorm, Bent and Mullyangah were both in, sorting recently cleaned clothes.

“Did you get it? How was it?” Bent asked.

Tarmac flicked the licence card towards Bent, then replied.

“Bent... You knew. Fuck you.”

Bent and Mully both smiled.

 

Team Cardinal was back early, and so were Ruby and Weiss. They had all joined Brimstone for lunch at a single long table in the mostly full cafeteria space. Lunches were being prepared by hired chefs now that the main student body had joined, so there was no more students in the kitchen. This had also led to the quality of the food improving, and over a lunch of roasts and vegetables Cardin was describing his latest mission. He was using the word 'boring' quite heavily. When he ended the story, everyone realised that not once had he described fighting anything.

“So, you didn't see any Grimm?” asked Ruby.

“Not a single Grimm.” confirmed Cardin.

“Isn't that a good thing?” asked Ruby.

“Ruby," he said "did you ever think when you gutted Salem that you would be putting us all out of a job?”

“Ummm. Yay?”

“No, not yay Ruby” said Weiss. “If I don't have a job as a huntress, I would have to go back to working for my father.”

“But if there are no more Grimm, then people won't die like my mother did.” Ruby counter-argued. Weiss stuttered an apology.

“As great as people not being eaten by torment seeking hellbeasts is, Weiss has a point. Do any of us actually have useful skills other then fighting?” asked Dove.

A show of hands revealed that outside of Weiss' singing and Critty's skill as a mechanic, they were as a group only capable of stabbing things.

“So what, we all just start being murder-hobos soon?” asked Russel.

“No.” said Cardin. “Land is valuable, it's where all the Winchester money is. In our lifetimes we're about to see the biggest land grab in the history of Remnant, and they are going to want huntsmen to be right at the front of it.”

Cardin's declaration killed the conversation, stories of the failures of previous expansion attempts warring in people's minds with the hope that this time it could be different. And they all knew that those previous attempts had been made with no suggestion that things were getting better. If the Grimm truly were being pushed back, it would be a free-for-all. Poor families abandoning cities and staking a claim to whatever patch of dirt they could. Breakdowns in social order as people built new lives for themselves. Times were about to get interesting.

“My people have a term for when this was done to us.” Mullyangah entered the conversation “It was called Terra Nullius.”

“Hey, happier topic.” said Bent. “Russel, Junior said to tell you when I saw you again, the twins are back.”

Russel nearly jumped out of his seat. “Fuck yes. Cardin, I'll be back... when classes start, maybe after. Wait, I need to go visit a chemists.”

Cardin grabbed Russel and dragged the smaller boy back into his seat.

“First, you need to finish lunch, you'll need your energy. Then you need to pack a change of clothes, then you need to visit a chemists, then you need to wait until The Club opens, then you can go see your girlfriends.”

Russel went back to eating, but was now fidgeting in his seat.

“Wait.” said Critty “If he's going to be tying up the twins, who's going to be watching The Club?”

“Not tying them up, they're not into that.”

“I guess we could be picking up some extra work.” said Bent, ignoring Russel.

So that evening, when Russel pushed open the doors of The Club like the VIP he was, green spiked mohawk offset with a recently pressed light brown button up shirt under his normal vest, Bent and Critty followed him through.

“Well if it isn't our favourite huntsman back from the wilds to enjoy the comforts of Vale once again.”

The twins were trading off who was speaking so fast and cleanly that it was one voice from two people. Two people who rapidly descended upon Russel and each took an arm, dragging him towards where Junior was tending bar.

“See Junior, we told you he wouldn't forget us.”

Junior sighed, and put down the glass he was polishing.

“I'm not going to get any more work out of you tonight am I?”

“Nope!” came from three throats.

“Fine. Just clean up after yourselves.”

“Hey, Russel. Catch.” said Critty as he threw the duffel bag he was carrying back to it's owner. Russel's arms were still trapped by the twins, so he caught the bag with his face. Militia laughed, Melanie caught it as it fell, then they lifted Russel between them and carried him up behind the bar and up the stairs at the back.

“Well, I know why you two are here.” Said Junior as they all watched Russel be taken away. “Standard rates. I'm not paying you extra just because my regulars are busy.”

“Would you pay us extra because we do an awesome job?” asked Critty as he hopped the bar and headed for the employee lockers.

“No, because as impressive as your scarification is, it's men who spend the money and you're not the eye-candy they are after. I'm not running a gay bar here.”

“Who is running a gay bar?” asked Bent as he followed Critty.

“I'm also not recommending you to my competition. Now get out there and do your job.”

He would be earning that lien tonight Bent reflected as he folded and stowed his oilskin overcoat, then his shirt and his normal pants. From the duffel bag he had been carrying came his armoured warboy pants, and another pair for Critty. A heavy belt and studded fingerless leather gloves completed the outfit. The idea was to look incredibly dangerous, while making it hard to accidentally kill someone. The patrons here were mostly normal people, and even the occasional criminal here for Junior's other business did not have an unlocked aura. They also appeared to not have hearing, based on how loud the music being played was. Bent took another pair of earplugs out of the container in his locker and rolled them into his ears.

When they came out from behind the bar, the place was already busy. The evening before the weekend, this meant an early crowd of office workers looking to unwind before heading home. They were usually good, with little practice of using violence as a dispute resolution tool. Critty circulated the tables talking with the wait staff as a reminder against wandering hands while Bent joined the goon just inside the door looking back out over the lowered dance floor. He amused himself for half an hour by working out the quickest path to various points in the club, then for another half hour by trying to spot the most boring person in the club. He'd given that title to a man who managed to dress in a shade of beige and was drinking alone at the bar and was casting around for something else to do when there was a knock on the door. It was a simple 'request for assistance' knock, taught to all of Junior's employees for semi-discreet conversation. Bent opened the door, and stepped out into a confrontation.

Three youth in extravagant outfits were in a standoff with the two goons serving as door guards. Hands hovered where weapons should be, and one of the goons held an ID card.

“Which of you wants to explain what is going on?” called Bent over the tension, his hands in front of him with palms facing forward.

“Underage.” the goon holding the ID said and handed it over to Bent.

Bent looked it over, spotting the date of birth and skipped the mental calculations in an unfamiliar date format, choosing instead to take the goon's word for it.

“So why did you think that this Signal Academy ID would get you in?”

“Because Yang said it got her in.”

“Yang? About this tall, huge mane of golden hair?”

“That's her. She said that we'd get in.”

“So you're training to be huntresses? Hoping to go to Beacon?”

“What's it to you?” The spokeswoman had taken her hands away from her waist, and now had them crossed in front of herself, trying to appear tougher.

“You know Glynda Goodwitch? The owner of this club happens to be a very good friend of hers. Do you really want this story to get back to her?”

One of the three definitely knew what was being implied, and she tugged on the shirtsleeve of the spokeswoman. The spokeswoman shook off the hand, but seemed to be wavering.

“Save the date kid. See you back here next year.” said Bent as he handed the ID card back. He stayed outside just long enough to see the huntresses in training leave, then stepped back inside and looked for Critty.

Critty had moved upstairs and was currently talking to the DJ while the early crowd stayed at tables and the bar. Bent took his place wandering between tables interspersed with leaning on the bar and drinking water as he watched the crowd change over. Business suits and shirts traded out for clubbing wear, brighter colours and more skin on display. Bent was still in front on total skin exposed, but the roadmap of scars and tattoos he was showing off sent a very different message to what the revelers were trying to send.

A few over enthusiastic couples broken up, a gentle reminder to a drunken lady that she was not allowed to investigate how toned the arses of the wait staff were, a regular early shift. Normality came to a halt after his third lap, when a small man wearing aggressively nondescript clothing and a bearing that suggested he was here for the criminal element not a good time approached Bent at the bar.

“Hey mate, you may just be the one I'm after.” was the newcomer's opening line.

“I'm not hard to find.” replied Bent

“See, word has gotten around that Junior has some new muscle helping him out. The word gets a bit more detailed and says that one of them is a driver of some skill.”

“If the story was true, would it really be a good idea to try and recruit this driver in Junior's own club?”

“You misunderstand. I'm not here offering a job, I'm here offering an invitation. Some of those who like their cars and their speed hold meets occasionally. Little get togethers, a bit of showing off with like minded individuals.”

“And why would anybody want to come to one of these?”

“Like I said, like minded individuals. Some show and tell, some racing, some betting. Just a bit of fun.” The newcomer moved faster when he saw Bent start to turn away, dropping a cheap scroll on the bar. “No decisions now, but if you do know who I mean then give them this scroll. Time and place will be sent to it before the meets.”

Bent swept the scroll off the bar and into one of the many pockets in his armoured pants, finished his glass of water and stepped away from the bar. He paid enough attention as he walked towards the dance floor to see the man he had been speaking to leave by the front door.

At the end of the night when they were collecting their pay from Junior, Bent mentioned it to him.

“You should go.” said Junior.

“I thought you would be against us being seen out with other groups?”

“I knew this was going on, but I haven't had a chance to get someone inside yet. When that scroll rings, answer it and go have some fun. Tell me what you find and I'll make it worth your while.”

“Can't drive Susan around the streets. Can't take one of Junior's cars. We're going to need something new. Something fast. Something _chrome._ ” said Critty, paying attention to exactly that part of the conversation that interested him.

 

“And finally with the grounding of international treaties and lawmaking bodies covered we move on to the part which is relevant to us which is of course the legal framework within which huntsmen operate between the kingdoms. While each kingdom has it's own laws covering the behaviour of huntsmen within that kingdom agreements between the headmasters of the major academies grant reciprocal recognition of the other academy's graduates and so grant them all the rights and responsibilities of a huntsman within that kingdom. With the unfortunate passing of both Headmaster Ozpin and Headmaster Lionheart these agreements need to be reaffirmed by the new headmasters but until such time as they are the old agreements still hold. When entering a new kingdom with an intention to work as a huntsman there is a procedure to be followed. At the port of entry you are to declare your profession and any weaponry carried to the relevant authorities. From there you will be given contact details for local governmental branch that deals with huntsmen and are required to contact them before taking work or advertising your services. The definition of advertising is very broad so it is recommended to make contact before talking to anybody. The local authority covering huntsmen varies greatly between kingdoms. Atlas has all huntsmen under the guidance of the military, Mistral has a dedicated part of the public service with their own offices while the last time I was in Vacuo I was told 'to go see the local cops or something'. Are there any questions so far?”

The mad scratching of pens was the only response to Professor Oobleck's question, as the third year students copied down everything he had said with long practice at his lecturing style. Brimstone worked on the theory that if each of them copied down what they heard, they could rebuild it into the full lecture later.

“Very well I shall move on to a more in-depth coverage of international huntsmen legalities. Starting with Atlas where we first have to cover the structure of the Atlas military which you can see on the board here” Professor Oobleck indicated a half-covered chart that had been stuck straight to the concrete wall with small nails and then kept straight on talking, without giving anyone a chance to actually look at it.

 

Lectures done for the week, Team Brimstone was having their first encounter with a huntsman jobs board. The new jobs board at the new Beacon academy was much simpler then it had been before, but they still found it confusing. It was a touch screen taking up a space easily as large as a door in the entry room of the main office building in the complex that was now Beacon. Rows of jobs were displayed in indecipherable code and unknown references.

“So what, we just look through the list and pick something that we want to do?” asked Critty.

“Yes. You can scroll through the listing with the arrows at the left, and tap on the headings of the various categories to sort by that category.” Ren was taking pity on the group, Juane already having found work for their reduced team. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Somewhere warm.” Said Mullyangah.

Ren sorted the list by place name, then started to check names in a location app on his scroll.

“Port Teteterra is on the southern coast and would have a tropical climate.”

“Done, we're going there.” Bent stabbed the accept button on the screen before anything could change.

“Don't you want to know about what you're doing or what the town is like?” asked Ren.

“Don't care, I'm just sick of being cold. Everybody else agree?”

“Why did we even choose to come here?” asked Tarmac.

“Choose? I don't remember getting a choice about this, do you? Do any of you? Exactly.” replied Bent.

“Selection confirmed.” the screen pinged.

“Great, according to this we leave tomorrow. Tarmac, Critty, go do the service on Susan so we can load her up as soon as possible in the morning. Mully and I will deal with the rest of the paperwork for this then pack some bags.”

The Warboy's first bullhead ride was an exercise in control. Control of Critty, who was trying to take everything apart to see how it worked; and Tarmac, who wanted to drive it. Bent and Mully took one of their teammates each and prevented them from doing anything that would result in fiery death. Critty's assertion that he couldn't think of a death more worthy of being witnessed then crashing a flying car at full speed into the ground fell on deaf ears. Tarmac was easier to distract by convincing the flight crew to talk to him and teach him the differences between flying and driving. The newly distracted Tarmac generated a new solution for the Critty problem, namely that Bent took Tarmac's chain and tied Critty into a seat.

With the team under control, Bent settled in to do some research about the place they were headed to. Port Teteterra was a mining port, servicing a series of mining and smelting communities near the coast. It also served as their evacuation point should any of those smaller communities come under attack. Recent advances in remote operation technology had caused the mines to grow and the Port was undergoing an expansion to deal with the increased shipping, as well as the people moving out of the mining communities as their jobs were replaced by machines. The additional pressure from nearly doubling to three thousand inhabitants was straining the town, and it was well outside what was traditionally considered Vale so any reduction in Grimm attacks had not reached here yet. The result was that Grimm sightings were on the rise, and the pair of hunters who usually looked after the Port needed cover while they had a chance to take a break.

Those two hunters were waiting on the airstrip when the bullhead landed, it being the same one that would take them back to Vale. Critty was acting as a spotter for Tarmac as Susan was backed out of the cargo hold of the bulk carrier bullhead, which left Bent and Mully to do the meet and greet. The meeting was made in full armour and weapons on both sides, a completely unsubtle statement of strength to anyone watching.

“So you're the team coming in to replace us. You've even got a theme going with the white and black and the baldness.” said the shorter of the two, a huntsman leaning on a self-feeding repeater crossbow.

“You've got access to our house while you're here. Take care of it. See the mayor at the council chambers, it's the big building near the northern gate, before you do anything else. I'd also suggest doing a sweep outside of the walls before it gets dark today to get used to the terrain you'll be fighting in.” said the other, a woman with a tower shield and stabbing short sword combination.

“I hadn't heard of Team Brimstone till I got the message that you were coming here, and there's not much news on you to be found.” said the huntsman.

“We've been over this, they have permission from Beacon to take jobs, so they must have impressed Ms Goodwitch. Everything will be fine. Right?” This last question she directed at Bent and Mullyangah.

“No Wucking Furries mate, it's all under control.” replied Bent with a reassuring gesture. The confused expression on the two he faced suggested that it didn't work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons: Usually I do this in reverse, but there's something that needs to go first.
> 
> "No Wucking Furries". You just pronounced that wrong. "No Worries" is a classic Australian phrase, which becomes "No Fucking Worries" with our love of swearing, and then the first syllables get swapped around to give "No Wucking Furries". The best guide I can give to the pronunciation is it's fuh-rries, not fur-ries.
> 
> "Terra Nullius" is a term with a lot of loaded history behind it in Australia. It is the term that the British Government of the time used to describe the land as free for colonisation, and so it came to represent so much of the early encounters between the Aboriginals and the British. This was not a good part of our history and everything that the country is now is built out of this term.
> 
> The Roads and Maritime Service is the New South Wales version of the Department of Motor Vehicles. It's amazing how well that joke translates across cultures. Also, those particular laws are state based, and so each state has a different name for the same group. In South Australia it's Service SA, which is boring.
> 
> Port Teteterra is Port Hedland translated badly into French. Port Hedland is very similar to what is described here, just about ten times as big. It's on the north-western corner of Western Australia, and is the port which is connected to the Pilbara Iron Ore deposits and some of the other northern WA mines like Telfer. It also serves as a brilliant example of Australians being very unimaginative at naming things. It's literally the port on the headland, or promontory. It's still not as stupid as Townsville, or the Village of Towns, which is a roughly equivalent place in Queensland.


	11. Working FIFO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I missed an update. I know I'm only a day late and that barely counts in the world of fanfic, but I still feel bad. At the same time actually having a job now doesn't help me write and neither does the fact that I keep having great ideas for scenes that will be coming up in about two chapters. Still, it's here and I'll be trying for Tuesday every week. Also, these things are getting longer.

The bastion of local government was a hardened concrete structure that had been designed to serve as the last refuge for the village should the exterior wall be breached. Bent led his team winding through the shoulder high barricades that prevented a clear run at the doors. The low reinforced doors were left open into a low ceilinged room that took up most of the ground floor. Straight across the foyer but well before the back wall of the building were a pair of lifts with a stair shaft between them. The reception desk continued the architectural trend of steel and exposed concrete, serving as a hard break in the room similar to the barriers outside. To the young man sitting behind it, it was just another desk. He smiled plasticly as the warboys approached and greeted them.

“Team Brimstone? The mayor has been expecting you. You will find her in her office on the second floor. It's the door directly at the end of the hall.”

The warboys split around the desk, Bent keeping his eyes forward on the stairs while Mullyangah kept his eyes on the receptionist, turning slightly as he got to the stairs to keep the only other person in the room in his view. The stairs going down were wider with broader tread then the stairs going up, clearly leading into underground strong rooms. At the second floor the stairs continued up, but an obvious and cheery sign next to the door explained that the mayor's office could be found on this floor. The sign didn't do much to beautify all the exposed concrete, but Bent appreciated the effort.

Through the door was a small lobby around the lift entrances and the first sign of interior design. The walls had been covered with patterned wallpaper in white and silver, with light polished wooden skirting boards trying to pretend that the walls and floors were not a single piece of poured concrete. The doors and doorframes were the same polished wood so Bent assumed it was a local product. Bent kept his eyes forward, Tarmac and Critty checked the doors on their sides, even looking into rooms when the last one through had left the door open. Mullyangah brought up the rear, his bare feet padding soundlessly on the thinly coated floor in contrast to the stamp and scratch of heavy boots in front of him. Bent's knuckles echoed on the wooden door with the 'mayor' plaque on it, and almost immediately a voice called out asking them to come in. The mayor was an average height and very enthusiastic woman, with a build and a grip from working in the mines that supported the area.

She was talking rapidly and loudly, a voice used to commanding others over the sound of machinery. She got through introducing herself, welcoming them to the town and getting their contact details with the efficiency of an old union organiser and had them walking back past the reception desk when Bent realised that he hadn't actually remembered anything of the meeting. He wasn't worried, if it was important, somebody would mention it again.

“So what now?” asked Tarmac.

“We get a map, and plan a short loop outside the walls to see what we are dealing with around here.” replied Bent.

“I'll get Susan ready”

“A short loop _on foot_.”

 

Mullyangah was taking lead on the patrol. They had started at the edge of the water and Mully was keeping the signs of the walls on his right as they walked through the unfamiliar forest. It was tall and green, greener then even the fields around Vale. There was no way that Susan was going to get through this, though she might be useful in the cleared area immediately outside the walls that had been prepared for market gardens and as a killing field for Grimm attacks. Further out between the trees the visibility dropped to the next trunk or wall of green leaves and Mully was relying on other senses to learn about his new environment. Harder wood creaked in the breeze, while softer, less mature branches made gentle swishes as they moved with it. Birds called loudly, high-pitched sounds scratching through the air and easy to pick out of the cacophony of the woods. The place even smelled green, water and life trapped in forms that couldn't be eaten. A wave of his hand and the group moved on again, leaf litter and smaller plants on the ground rustling under Mully's feet or crushing under the boots of the others.

Not much further they came across an open track in the forest, bulldozer cut in a straight line through the trees. The edges were starting to be recolonised by the forest around, green shoots sticking up through the rolled fine gravel that the track had been surfaced with. From the edge of the track the wall surrounding Port Teteterra was easily seen, as were the handful of buildings that stuck above it and the lighthouse in the distance. In the other direction the trail shrunk to invisibility, heading for one of the mining villages that supplied the port. Mully kept his eyes on the foliage, looking for the animals that must be present in a forest like this. Tarmac tapped the surface of the road, then dug a small knife into it to test it's compaction. Satisfied he knew the surface he ducked across to join Mully on the far side. Critty was far out of his element and just walked across while Bent was last, scuffing marks as he went to hide how many were in the group.

As he got used to the area Mully began to pick out more of the wildlife. Lizards blended into the trees they were climbing and small rodents rustled leaf litter as they ran from the invaders. Nothing big enough to hunt, but some that could be worth laying traps for. Mully made himself a mental note to ask about hunting in the area and if he would be interfering with anybody else if he started. The weeks spent in a forest of steel and concrete was dulling his skills.

The rest of the loop back to the seashore on the far side of the village from where they started was completed quickly and easily, the only interruption to the forest being two more dirt paths leading away from the port. Mully took the time to teach the others about how to move in the new terrain and how to identify the same things he had.

 

The sun was falling as they walked back through the far gate from where they had exited, and the discussion turned to food.

“We have access to a kitchen again. We could cook.” said Mully.

“We could... Or we could go to the pub.” suggested Tarmac, pointing to the building in question.

“I agree with Tarmac.” said Bent. Everybody else looked at him in surprise. “We are protecting these people, we need them to know and trust us, and being seen in public is a large part of that. I'm calling it the 'Supporting Local Communities' policy.”

“Well if it's policy.” said Critty from his position halfway across the road to the pub already.

Critty pushed open the door immediately under the neon sign, and proved he had learned from Qrow well by claiming spaces at the bar and ordering for everybody before the last of the four had made it through the door. It was still early, so the only company in the bar was a dedicated drinker and the bartender himself.

“You four look new.” said the bartender as he placed the four large glasses of amber fluid in front of the warboys.

“We're here covering for your two regular hunters while they take a holiday.” said Bent before he raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply. The beer was cold and clean, a mild bitter aftertaste the only remnant of it's passing. “This is good. Is this local?”

“Shipped in from a place well up the coast. Hops won't grow around here. If you want local, we make this from the sugarcane.” The bartender placed a bottle of very dark golden liquid on the bar in front of them.

“Maybe later. What we're after now is a menu.”

“Well that's easy. You can have the soup, the roast or the fish.”

“What's the fish?”

“Same as yesterday. Shark. Old mate caught a big one day before and we're still working through it.”

“Yeah, fine. We'll take four plates of the fish and a table.”

“You can have any of them, you just can't take them out of the room. That'll be 108 lien.”

They decamped from the bar to a table that gave them a good view and clear movement around the room. Mully kept his eyes on the sole habitual drunk leaning on the bar and raising the wrist with a consistency bodybuilders doing bicep curls would have been envious of. Critty swept his eyes over what passed for entertainment, a jukebox in a far corner next to the toilets and a large screen above the windows on one wall that was showing a set of sports highlights. Bent had his diary out and was scribbling down observations that would be sent back to the Furiosa in time. With his shorthand notes for the day taken, Bent gathered the others into a conversation about their plan for the next few days. He wanted to take a quick trip to each of the mining villages and camps that were scattered around the port and fed it's loading docks. Mully wanted to kill and cook something local. Tarmac was just anxious to get back behind the wheel of Susan for something serious. As the discussion wandered the pub started to fill with longshoremen who were coming off shift now it was too dark to see.

The noise level steadily rose as the room filled and the beer kegs emptied. This building was clearly the social hub of the village and people from all walks of life started to filter in. A group of teens took over the jukebox. Several of the longshoremen and some of the other men were gathered so they could watch the screen as a live game started and they were rapidly lost in arguments over what was being shown, the only agreement between them being that the referee was blind.

Food arrived, four plates of battered and fried slices of shark over chips and local vegies. It was demolished with teenage male efficiency, and then Critty was handed a stack of lien and sent on expedition to the bar to bring back more beer. It had taken long enough that they were considering sending Tarmac on an expedition to rescue the previous expedition when Critty's shirtless form pushed it's way through the last few standing patrons holding a pair of glasses in each hand. He was followed by a woman no older then they were wearing a short but beautifully fitted dress and who had a distinctive extra pair of ears on top of her head. When Critty placed the glasses around the table she pulled a new chair up so she could sit with them.

“We sent you for beer, but I guess a new friend is good too.” said Tarmac.

“Blake has a pair of ears just like that.” commented Mully.

“This is Opal, she said she wanted to meet all of us. This is Bent, Tarmac and the black one is Mullyangah. We're warboys from the Spire.” Critty worked through the introductions.

“But more recently huntsmen from Beacon here to fill in for the two locals” finished Bent.

“When I heard that we had a new set of huntsmen in town, I just had to come and meet you. And you four look like you're from further away then usual. Do you have any good stories of home?”

For the time it took to finish the round of beers, Opal kept the conversation flowing and focused on the warboys, laughing and smiling at the right times and leading them with questions to keep discussing themselves. As Mully finished the last of his glass, Opal stood up and dropped a business card on the table.

“We really do appreciate you coming here to protect us. If you drop by while we're open, we can show you just how much we appreciate it.”

Opal slipped out through the crowd towards the door, slightly exaggerating the sway of her hips. Bent picked up and read the card.

“The Cathouse? It's just got a name, address and open from 7 till early.”

“Don't look at us. We know as much as you do.”

Bent stood up, then waved the rest out of their seats. Tarmac stacked the glasses before he stood up, and the group approached the bartender again. Tarmac placed the glasses down while Bent showed the card and asked about it.

“Ah, that's the whorehouse. Don't go flashing that around, Vale government doesn't look to kindly on places like that.”

Bent kept looking confused.

“Whores? Hookers? Prostitutes?”

At the last one Mullyangah looked up.

“Now I know. They're like wives, but you can pay them to choose you.” he explained to Bent.

“Pay for a wife? Doesn't that ruin the point?” said Bent.

“How do you know that?” asked Critty.

“It was in a book I borrowed from Blake.” Mullyangah replied.

Bent nodded goodbye to the bartender, then chased his warboys outside and back to the house they were camping in.

 

The next day's explorations took them into the yards that serviced the Port itself. Critty was trying to get into manufacturing plants to get knowledge for the Spire. There was also an element of curiosity, the processes of mining and refining having been lost to the Spire so long ago in history they did not even survive in stories. Critty pestered the yard workers for nearly an hour before he found one that would talk to him.

“So what's in the trucks?”

“Concentrate from the Shattered Mountain lead mines”

“What's it look like?”

“Black heavy dirt.”

“What's it good for?”

“Making things heavy.”

Having exhausted that line of conversation, Critty went looking for a supervisor. Mully tagged along because somebody had to keep an eye on Critty while Bent and Tarmac were walking the walls. Critty found a promising looking shed and walked straight in, starting to talk when somebody looked questioningly at him.

“Don't mind me, just looking for Grimm. Tricky bastards, Grimm, never know where they might be hiding.” He made a show of looking under a desk “Can never be too careful.” He turned to the most important looking person in the room “Mate! While I'm here, do you mind answering a few questions? Didn't think you would. Anyway, where do all the trucks come from?” And with nobody prepared to question the obvious huntsman about what he was doing, Critty managed to learn most of what he wanted about the concentrates coming in to Port Teteterra and how and where they were shipped. As they were leaving Mullyangah took the chance to ask a few questions himself.

“What is the tall building on the promontory?”

“That's the Twist Lighthouse. Ships use it to find the port if conditions are bad. The Twist family has been living there for generations.”

Mully thanked them for their time, then used a calloused hand to force Critty outside.

 

High sun of the second-last day saw Bent standing on his front lancer's perch, while Susan's engine rumbled underneath him. Tarmac had pulled up at the crest of the first set of hills above Port Teteterra while Mullyangah tracked an oversized bird he claimed to have seen walking in the forest. It was meant to be an easy few hours to get to the nearest mining village that had grown around an outcrop of magnetite just past the coastal mountains, and Bent was hoping to be there and back well before sundown. That required off course that his team could stick together. At least Critty was on his way back, buttoning his fly as he walked. Seconds later a strangled squawk echoed off the hills, nearly causing Critty to stumble. A few minutes later Mullyangah appeared out of the shadows of the trees, dragging a huge bird with a brightly coloured head by it's legs. It still had a wooden spear sticking out of it's ribcage.

“That thing's going in the back.” said Tarmac when Mully was close enough to hear him.

Mully braced a foot against the carcass and used the leverage to pull his spear out. Then he picked it up by the legs and flipped it over the side of the tray, letting it fall in the section that wasn't set up for a lancer's perch.

“That should bleed out by the time we're home, and then I'll shove a spear through it and spit roast it in the yard. Make a decent going away dinner.”

“Fine.” said Bent. “Brakes off Tarmac, we've got places to see.”

The hills formed and hard switch in the terrain, from the coastal rainforest to arid plains which stretched out in every direction from the top of the last hill. Bent pointed to a rising plume of dust that the road pointed towards.

“That must be where we're going.” Bent said as he pointed.

The next two hours would have been boring, had they not all been raised in an actual desert. Mully kept up a shouted commentary on the plants that they were passing and how they must have adapted to the climate, as well as the effects the terrain must have on the weather to create the land they were driving through. Critty was playing with the music, and he found the track he was after. A noise like an air raid siren with a drumbeat came from the speakers.

“Oh yeah, that's the one. That DJ at Junior's has the best bangers.”

“Is that a Grimm warning siren?”

“No, this is Thanes.” Critty cocked his head as another wail started “That's the Grimm warning siren.”

Bent raised a hand to shield his eyes, missing his oil kohl markings and their ability to cut glare.

“Is that a lizard climbing on the wall?” he asked.

Tarmac answered by planting his foot and letting Susan speed the last section towards the mining village. What came into view was a massive lizard in black and red, each scale edged in sharpened white bone. As they got closer it reached a clawed hand as large across as a man and seized the top of the wall, starting to haul itself upwards. Stone crumbled under the claws.

“That's a big Grimm.” said Mullyangah, looking at the beast.

“We should probably call for help.” said Bent

“We could get help.” started Critty, flicking through the music app on his scroll “Or, and this just a suggestion, we could be _awesome_ ”

“I like Critty's plan.” said Tarmac, Susan roaring her agreement as he sunk the boot.

Critty found what he wanted, and a simple drumbeat with a fast plucked guitar riff over the top started up.

“THIS IS NOT A FUCKING PLAN!” yelled Bent as Susan's wheels threw gravel backwards before catching and accelerating.

“NA NANA NA NANA THUN-DAH!” Critty yelled back in time with the music.

 

Tarmac threw Susan straight at the back legs of the massive goanna. Bent braced himself on the forward perch while Mully slotted a spear into Woomera. Critty beat time on the roof from the inside, matching to the rhythm of the song and to Tarmac's movements as Susan responded. Tarmac's hand dropped from steering wheel onto gearstick and Critty doubled his pace. With that signal Bent's knees compressed and Mully let fly the first spear. The spear was just embedding itself as Tarmac threw the gearbox down two steps and pumped the brakes, gravel losing the war of traction and spraying in clouds as Susan went from full noise ahead to a four wheel skip as she shed momentum. Bent kept his momentum and leapt off the front lancer's perch at the back of the Grimm.

“WITNESS!” Tarmac called as his leader flew into combat.

The spike on the back of his boarding sword impacted first, shattering a scale and embedding in the flesh beneath. The charges on Mully's spear then went off, blowing a chunk out of the back of the Grimm's highest hand. The hole was small compared to the size of the creature, but it split the major tendons in the hand and those claws fell away from the wall, unable to support any weight. Bent used the distraction to get his footing, then climbed another scale to get closer to the neck of the creature. Behind him Mully dived off the back of Susan and rolled as he landed, coming up with Woomera and Wokali in hand. Critty stepped out much more sedately, making the dismount from a still moving car look easy.

With it's plan of scaling the wall to get at the terrified beings within interrupted, the Grimm turned towards the new opponents, making Bent's job easier as it lowered it's body to the ground. A tongue as long as two men flicked out and tasted the air, then the head pointed straight at Critty and it surged forward with jaws opening wide. The stretch of it's neck was exactly what Bent needed to find a gap in the scales, and he buried half his boarding sword into the soft flesh beneath. The Grimm's jaws slammed shut well short of Critty and Mully stepped in front with Wokali out to provide some cover.

Rather then engage the two in front, the front hand on the same side as Bent reached back, then scratched forward across it's own neck. With his boarding sword stuck Bent had no chance to get out of the way, and the hand pushed him aside and slammed him into the ground. The shattered section of his sword still stuck in the neck twinkled in the sun. Faster then it had moved before, the goanna pivoted on a foot and brought a tail almost as long as the rest of it's body around. Spikes growing out of it collided with Mully and sent him skidding across the rocky ground, while the very tip caught Critty and scored a line in his aura across his chest. The tail came for a reverse swing as it shifted it's hands to reveal Bent.

As soon as he wasn't pinned Bent was rolling, trying to get his knife out while moving. He wasn't fast enough as the tongue found him and the forks at it's end seized him. A kick-flip up and a grasping hand catching anything he could reach left him with both booted feet planted on the lizard snout and an arm pulling on the tongue. His scramble for his spare knife intensified.

Critty levered a scale in the tail open with one blade, then stabbed in with the other, cutting sideways to sever whatever was holding the scale onto the flesh beneath. With the first one out of the way, he started to work under the next aiming to ringbark and then sever the whole tail. The goanna had other ideas, and flicked it's tail up and down, catching Critty's arm on the way up and most of him on the way down.

Mully had no good angle, and no boost from a speeding vehicle so he circled as he picked himself up, trying to get in front of the Grimm and get access to it's softer mouth. A mouth which he watched snap open and closed, pulling Bent most of the rest of the way in. A spray of blood came from within the mouth, followed by a reflected gleam as Bent shoved his knife through the soft tissue in the side of the jaw and sawed outwards as teeth bigger then his legs crushed his aura. The last of the tissue gave way and Bent rolled out of one side of the goanna's mouth, leaving parts of his pants behind. The previously damaged hand slapped down and pinned him again.

When the Grimm turned it's head to capture Bent again, it brought itself in line with Mully. Woomera flicked and another explosive spear sped outwards, clinking off a tooth and catching in the soft inside of the lips. The following detonation shattered the closest tooth and redirected the goanna's attention towards this more annoying target. It's forward lunge freed both Bent and Critty, but both were left bleeding from new wounds. Mully parried the tongue with the point of Wokali as it came for him, followed by the whole monster.

Tarmac had swung Susan in a circle coming up behind the Grimm and throwing his chain out to Critty. As the head snapped at Mully who dodged and rolled across the stones, Critty passed the chain around a back leg and caught the weighted blade on the end on itself. Tarmac hooked his end of the chain on a protrusion of the rollcage built exactly for this and threw Susan into 4-wheel drive and reverse.

The chain came taught just as the goanna was making another lunge for Mully. With a back leg no longer supporting it and it's weight off centre from the lunge it bellyflopped onto the dirt. Even four wheels were not enough traction to pull against it's whole belly and Susan stalled as the engine could no longer turn. The damaged hand reached for Mully in front, but Bent reached in with his free hand, grasping the white of surviving tendons and holding them as he stabbed down snapping them under the combination of blade and tension.

Mully stepped right up to the mouth, deflecting the tongue with Wokali then reaching in and pinning the tongue to the base of the mouth with one of it's bladed ends. The spike on the other end of Wokali prevented the mouth from closing as he strapped the last of his red dust explosives to his second-last spear and shoved the bundle as deep into it's gullet as he could. He wasn't fast enough ripping Wokali out.

For a moment, the lizard could have been a dragon, breathing fire on the unfortunate huntsman trying to fight it. “WITNESS” cried three voices as the flames covered Mully. But for all it's size this was no dragon, and the fire tore out it's throat and even breached the hole in it's neck previously made by Bent. With that last exhalation, the goanna collapsed and began to disperse from the snout backwards.

Critty was the first to reach Mully, and pulled him upright.

“You all right mate? You're looking a bit crispy.”

“Critty, he's always been black.” said Bent. “AND WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT YOU MAKING PLANS?”

“It's not entirely his fault” said Tarmac after he pulled Susan to a halt next to the other three. “Do you honestly think we were going to do anything else?”

Bent waved his knife at the other warboys in a general expression of anger at reality. “Fine. Everybody back on Susan, we're going in, roasting this bird and staying here tonight. We can drive back tomorrow when we're not bleeding.”

 

It was a hero's welcome that awaited them inside, with many hands taking over the cooking and patching their wounds as those that they had saved celebrated another day of life. The warboys were the first to pass out, adrenaline letdown and healing injuries sapping their strength.

 

At midday of the next day, they stood again on the bullhead dock, positions reversed from the last time they were there. The two returning hunters looked over the battered warboys, damaged clothing and fresh bandages in evidence. Critty flexed his arm to show off the strapping around his bicep. Bent swept the remains of his sword over the team and smiled broadly.

“See, what did I tell you? All under control.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons:
> 
> FIFO is an abbreviation of Fly In Fly Out. Australia is one of the emptiest and most urbanised countries, so it has a special class of workers who live in a capital city and are flown out to the middle of nowhere to do their job. Some Australian workers in the northern capitals go so far as to FIFO from South East Asia to get that cheap living.
> 
> "Supporting Local Communities" was an actual policy of a company I worked with once. Every Friday, no matter how much trouble it was, we would make our way to the nearest pub and go meet some new people and spend money in the town. We would also drink heavily and try to eat out the company expense account.
> 
> Yes, I used a cat fanus purely to make a "cathouse" pun. It's important to note here that I have nothing against sex workers. As I've spent my whole working life in mining and construction (half of it FIFO myself) there's a fair bit of interaction with the sex and comfort industries.
> 
> Shattered Mountain and a lead mine is of course a reference to Broken Hill, one of the biggest lead-zinc-silver mines in the world. Also a huge part of Australian history through the union movement and movies.
> 
> The Twist family lives in a lighthouse... Have you ever, have you ever felt like this? Good old Round The Twist was many schoolchildren's first encounter with Australian storytelling and our ability to tell amazing outright falsehoods and make them awesome. You wouldn't believe half the things in that show.
> 
> The bird Mullyangah catches is a Cassowary. It's like an Ostrich, just flashier and meaner. No, you're not allowed to hunt them as they're endangered native animals. At this point I should also point out that while I named the village after Port Hedland, it's climate and terrain is more like Townsville. This is because I've actually been to Townsville and I haven't been to Port Hedland. Yes, they're both in Australia, but Australia is huge. The distance between those towns is comparable to Florida to California.
> 
> Bangers is a term for good music. I learned it off a bunch of formwork labourers. I don't know how they came up with it, I try not to think like the labourers too much. The whole "darkness stares back into you" thing. THANES are an Adelaide based 3 piece electronica group. Great dark and dreamy music.
> 
> And the Grimm fought here is an eight or ten metre long cross between a Sand Goanna and Thorny Devil. Go look up a picture of a Thorny Devil and tell me you can't see that thing in Grimm colours. I can't find an Aboriginal term for the Thorny Devil (Haven't looked real hard either, but it's range is mostly outside that of the tribes I know) so it's being called by the Pitjantjatjara name for a Sand Goanna, Tingka.
> 
> Lastly as a note from myself, if I end up abandoning this fic in the future before it is finished, I can do so happily now. I've committed the scene that started the whole thing to words, with four warboys hanging off a ute charging into battle against the Grimm with AC/DC's Thunderstruck playing. It's all downhill from here.


	12. Bush Mechanics

“So the contract was properly accepted and was binding?”

“That is correct.”

“And the work was completed as expected?”

“The reports from the village were favourable.”

“But you can't pay us?”

“Yes.”

“Why can't you pay us?”

“Because, Legate Bruce, in all the paperwork you filled out to confirm your attendance at this academy, you left the section for bank details blank. I cannot pay you because I have no way to give you the money.”

“In my defense Professor, when I started here I didn't know what a bank account was. I figured that if it was important I could sort it out later.”

“Well, it is important, it is now later, and you should 'sort it out'. I have prepared copies of the relevant forms for you, please return them correctly completed by tomorrow.”

Bent took the forms that she handed him, nodded and left Goodwitch's office. He met Mullyangah where he had been waiting outside, legs tucked underneath as he sat against the wall.

“I take it we didn't get the lien.” said Mully.

“We'll get the lien once Professor Goodwitch knows where to put it. Look, we left Tarmac and Critty with this last time, I think it's our turn again. Let's go make a bank account while they get to do the fun stuff.”

 

The Warboys had no concept of life after death. One could be given a second life if found close enough to first death, but the second death was inescapable and ended everything a warboy had ever been. But if they had had a heaven, what Tarmac was currently looking at would have been it.

The carefully stacked ranks of car bodies in Vale's biggest wrecking yard formed canyons of steel and enamel that he walked down, lost in thought. His eyes traced the lines of car bodies, building what they would have looked like in his mind and looking for that perfect shape. The build of a new car was an event unheard of in his lifetime in the Spire and here he had the chance to be in charge of it.

The stacks had been made by date of arrival, not manufacture or chassis type, so Tarmac and Critty wandered through the most recent additions. Crushed bonnets from head on collisions and caved in side panels were all they could find, and empty broken headlights stared back at them.

“We're going to have to get stupidly lucky to find something we can use in this.” said Critty.

“I think we'll have to end up buying two of the same with different sets of damage to build a full one out of the parts.” replied Tarmac.

“Do you really think we'll find two of the same thing in the same colour here?”

“Critty, we're just going to sandblast all the panels back to bare metal and electroplate them chrome. It doesn't matter what colour they are when we get them.”

“Hey, that one on top of the stack looks pretty intact.”

Critty was pointing to an older vehicle, probably four decades by the hard angles on the body and the pronounced fold line down the centre of the body panels. The original paint job had been red with a huge black stripe across the bonnet and over the roof, but too long in the weather was starting to make the paint peel.

“That looks good. It looks dangerous, not like all these rounded edges and flowing lines on the new stuff. Give me a boost up there.”

Critty got Tarmac started scaling the pile of vehicles one over from the car they wanted, then he scaled the rest of the way on his own. Standing on top of the precarious stack of cars, he admired his new prize. It had been designed for speed, with an oversize bonnet to fit a massive engine under and the lines of a spoiler in the bodywork of the back. There was room inside for the whole team, even if all those seats were going to need replacing. The windows had gone at some point and mold was starting to grow inside. He waved to get Critty's attention, then jumped down.

“Lets go find the guy who runs this place, that's the one we want.”

Only a few minutes later they were back with the overweight owner, pointing at the lonely old muscle car atop the pile. A few more minutes and the forklift operator was lifting it down for them to inspect. The suspension collapsed when it took the weight, another part that had fallen to exposure. Critty was on his back straight away, pulling himself under the vehicle and inspecting the chassis rails and axles. Tarmac popped the bonnet and looked at the shattered remains of the engine.

“I don't think you want this one, the previous owner blew the engine by over-revving it and ruined it. Made a mess of everything in the engine bay.” said the scrapyard owner.

“Nah mate, it'll be fine. She just needs some Start Ya Bastard.” replied Tarmac.

“If you're sure.”

“Hey, Critty, are we sure?”

“Yeah.” came a voice from underneath. “There's minimal rust and while I think the gearbox has karked it, axles and steering arms seem fine.”

“We're sure. How much do you want for it?”

The yard owner named a price. Critty bumped his head in shock underneath.

“How about two-thirds of that in cash right now?” offered Tarmac.

“Three-quarters, and you deal with getting it off the yard.” came the counter offer.

“Fine. Critty, get out from under there, the forklift guy needs to move our new car.” Tarmac shook on the deal, and sent Critty off to settle the payment while he called a saved number in his scroll.

“Hey mate, it's Tarmac. Yes, I know we're your favourite huntsman team, we're the only one who have a car. Look, you and your truck busy this arvo? Just bought a new ride and need to get it taken back to Beacon. Yeah, here's the address. Half an hour is fine.”

When the tow truck turned up, Critty was sitting on the bonnet and Tarmac was leaning on the driver's door.

“You boys have some work in front of you if you want to get that thing running again.” the driver said as he climbed out of the truck.

“Wouldn't have it any other way. Let us give you a hand getting it on the back and then we'll jump in with you for the ride.” replied Tarmac. It was a quiet ride back to Beacon.

“You know, we still need an engine for this thing.” said Tarmac as he admired the lines of their new car sitting on an unused section of Beacon's grounds between two of the warehouses.

“Relax, I've got a plan for that.” said Critty.

“Your plans are anything but relaxing.”

“Nah, it's not my plan, I just stole it. Junior was talking about how the cops auction off all the things they collect and impound. There's one coming up in a few days. I figure we go along and see if somebody got done for street racing recently.”

 

Ruby looked up in surprise when the packet dropped in front of her at breakfast. She met Bent's eyes.

“Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't be giving me cookies, and I want in no way to imply that I'm not going to eat these cookies, but why are you giving them to me?”

Wiess smiled proudly. Some of those lessons about implicit contracts and legal obligations were starting to sink in. Bent placed the two largest pieces of his boarding sword down on the table as well.

“I hear you're the one to talk to about getting weapons fixed.”

Ruby pushed the two pieces together, noting how much was missing where it had shattered. Then she picked up the smaller and looked at the crystallisation patterns in the break.

“You would be better off making a whole new one. This has been poorly forged and there's weak spots through it. You're also missing too much material.”

“Ruby, stop talking with your mouth full.” corrected Wiess.

Ruby swallowed, then stuck her tongue out at her partner.

“Anyway, if you want another exactly the same that would be about an afternoon of work, taking stuff from the school stores. But it would be way more awesome if you turned it into a gun as well.”

“I just need my sword back.”

“If you're going to be boring, you owe me. Notes from the next week of Port's lectures should cover it. Meet me in the workshops at the end of the day and we'll get a mold set up.”

“Thank you Ruby.”

“Thank me by saving me from listening to Port's rambling.”

 

Tarmac and Critty had gotten out their best for the police auction. They thought they should at least look like they weren't planning on taking whatever they bought straight back into illegal street racing. There were no questions asked when they registered and collected a bidding number, then they made their way to the floor where the lots were being displayed.

Proceeds of crime is a very broad term. Shelves had been filled with household goods and electronics. Jewelry was stacked under glass cases, the flaunting of power and wealth that it had been coming to nothing. Food for the whole Spire could have been grown using the hydroponics gear that was carefully stacked together. But what Tarmac and Critty were after was in the lot outside, a set of cars that had been taken from convicted higher-ups with small black market groups and one lonely street racer.

“This won't work at all.” said Critty as he inspected under the bonnet. “It's a supercharged straight four, not what we want. And it's too small to fit nicely in the engine bay.”

“If you are looking for car parts, may I suggest checking lots 384 through 399.” offered the auction assistant who had opened the bonnet for them. “You will find them back inside, far left hand side of the hall.”

The lots described made Critty's eyes glaze over when he saw them. It was the results of a raid on an underground chop shop, with sets of tools and dismantled cars packed neatly into boxes. Tarmac sorted through the lot descriptions as Critty drooled slightly, then smacked him when he needed his attention.

“How much of this stuff do we actually need?”

“All of it.”

“Not want, need. Engine, gearbox, drivetrain. After that you can try and convince me to get other stuff.”

“Fine. Hand me the list.” Critty scanned the list and compared with the boxes in front of him. “We want either lot 387 or 388. They're both near complete sets of components from cut down current generation muscle cars. We should also try and get lots 390 and 391 because those are boxes of aftermarket upgrade parts. Something out of the stuff in them should fit where we need it to. If we have anything left over, we also want lot 384 because that's the toolset that includes the engine lift.”

Tarmac counted funds. Their pay from Junior was basically all gone after buying the body, and Beacon took a sizable cut from the work they were doing as third years. He took the list back and wrote in some prices next to the lot numbers that Critty had specified.

“That's what we can afford to throw at each lot.”

“Anything else while we're here?”

“No. We still owe the Spire.”

“Fine. Lets go find a seat.” said Critty as he walked towards the ranks of chairs that had been set up in front of a lectern and projector screen. They got there early, and took seats as close to the middle as they could. Tarmac amused himself by people watching, trying to identify where the various others at the auction had come from and what they were there for. Several of them knew each other, greeting them like old friends as they choose seats. Some barely acknowledged each other, but none of the others seemed to be new. By the fiftieth lot, any entertainment he could gain from that was spent. At lot one hundred he was thinking that this had been a terrible idea. Critty got up and wandered off. At lot 150 (a sorted lot of gold neck chains) he gave up trying to understand who could possibly wear so much ornamentation and started to review class notes on his scroll. Critty bumped his arm as he sat back down.

“I'll watch this, go take a walk for a bit. I'll message your scroll if they jump some numbers to what we want.” Critty said under his breath as he got comfortable.

Tarmac made his way out and spent a far more interesting hour sorting through hydroponics equipment to see if anything in it would be of interest to the Mothers who ran the gardens at the summit of the Spire. Exhausting that, he returned to his seat, muttering apologies as he made his way between other bidders. When he sat down again Critty was looking up specifications for the parts they were trying to buy and the Auctioneer was up to lot 340. Lot 380 came up before he got bored again, which was the modified car from outside. It went to a short bidding war between two that Tarmac hadn't seen bid before, and while he was trying to work out who they were the auctioneer announced lot 384. Critty immediately raised the numbered paddle that they had been given at registration. Tarmac wrestled it from him as they waited to see if anybody else was going to get involved. Nobody did, and in a matter of seconds Critty was the proud owner of yet more tools. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But somebody else wanted the car parts. Lots 385 and 386 had minor skirmishing over the prices, but when lot 387 turned into a four way bidding war it rapidly went out of the warboy's price range. Critty glared daggers at the woman who had won it, who waved back at him. Bidding for 388 started just as fierce, but the woman who had won the previous lot bowed out early and the other two involved became a lot more cautious. Tarmac heard the latest bid called by the auctioneer and looked at the number he had written on the paper. This was getting too expensive. He sighed as he lowered the paddle.

“You can't just crash now.” whispered Critty.

“It's too much for us.” Tarmac replied.

“We need this. She needs this. Without it you'll never see her drive, never feel her move beneath you. She'll never roar the glory of V8 for all to hear.”

“By our deeds we honour him.” murmured Tarmac, interlacing his fingers. While he was distracted, Critty stole the paddle back and triumphantly raised it, interrupting the auctioneer's call of “Going Twice!”

Another two bids and the lot was theirs. A complete aftermarket conversion kit designed to turn a production sedan into a muscle car. It had cost them so much that they were not even going to try bidding on the other items they wanted, rather they got up and walked back to the registration desk intending to sort out paying for their new parts. On their way back Critty raised a good point.

“You know, we're not going to be able to carry all this home.”

“Ring old mate with the tow truck again?”

“I think we'll have to.”

 

Over the next few days Tarmac and Critty pulled the chassis they had bought apart, separating the panels for chroming and removing all the components they would be replacing, which happened to be everything but the wheels. Their absence did not go unnoticed.

“Ah, Mr Bruce. I notice that half of your team hasn't been attending lectures recently.” said Doctor Oobleck at the beginning of one of his speeches.

“Tarmac has, ummm, found a new woman.”

“And Critty?”

“This woman... Needs a lot of love and attention.”

“While young love is admirable it is no excuse for missing out on an education. Let them know that they will be either catching up on this material or spending their evenings helping me sort the old administrative records.”

 

That evening, when Tarmac checked the mysterious scroll that had been given to them at Junior's, there was a single message on it. It simply had a date and time, some two weeks in the future. He showed it to the rest of Brimstone.

“I'd say we're on a time limit now.”

 

When the chromed exterior panels came back, Mullyangah was roped into the production. His skill for art, a hundred meters of coloured copper wire and layers of clear coat enamel began to sketch a story over the shining panels. Tales of the winds of home, what they shaped from the sands and a claim that this car would outrun them all. As each panel became a work of art, they were bolted back into place, reforming the shell of the car. The work was collecting an audience, with students dropping by between classes to see how she grew. Dove was a common feature in the early evenings, taking notes on the heavy work that was so different to his fine detail mechashift weapons.

With the panels around the engine bay in place, the first of the major jobs came up. Critty and Tarmac brought the whole shell up on a set of jacks and improvised stands to get enough clearance to kneel underneath, then the whole team was needed to hold the new drive shaft in place as Critty welded bearings into place. Critty tried to call it a “team-building exercise” so Bent hit him at exactly the time when he would drop his handful of welding rods and have to pick them all back up. The same was repeated for the gearbox, then they called it a night.

The next day, none of them showed up for classes. They instead stood around the engine lift, lowering an absurd mass of steel, a 5.7 litre capacity V8 engine into the bay. It was a religious ceremony, conducted in silence as it was rested onto precisely altered mounts and bolted into place, then the gearbox shifted to engage the crankshaft. Bolts tightened, the beautifully degreased and polished block sat in it's housing, a statement of power and invention. Dozens of other components started to be fitted in around it. Radiator and hosing. Fuel lines. Alternator and starter motor. Battery and endless cabling. After a session of nearly ten hours, Tarmac tightened the last few bolts that held the bonnet in place, then lowered it over the completed engine bay. The air intake on the top of the engine stuck out of a hole in the centre.

“So the engine was too big to fit under the bonnet?” asked Bent.

“Nah, see, that's a design feature to make it easier to naturally aspirate the V8.” replied Critty.

“And how long did you spend designing that feature?”

“About 15 minutes with an angle grinder.”

 

Two more days where they deflected questions over whether their string of disappearances from class would continue and the seats came back from the upholsterer. An afternoon of installing them and putting the last touches on the interior left them with a completed vehicle.

“She needs a name.” Bent said as they stood and admired the completed vehicle in the dead-end street that had been their workshop. Hard lines of the body glinted in chromed perfection, softened only slightly by traceries of coloured wire under the clear enamel coat.

“Ruby was telling me about how in one of her books there was a metal brighter then silver and tougher then steel. It was called Mithral.” said Mullyangah.

“That's her all right.” said Tarmac.

“So what, Mitho? Mithy?.” suggested Critty.

“No. She is Mithralius, and will never be anything less.” stated Tarmac.

“So, are we taking Mithralius for a test drive?”

“I don't think you realise how much she cost us. I don't think we can afford the Dust to feed her.” said Bent.

“Worth it.” said Tarmac.

“Yeah, worth it.” agreed Mully.

“You know, we could siphon the tank in Susan.” suggested Critty.

 

Just after sundown in the middle of the week, a dull roar echoed off the steel walls of the warehouses that now contained Beacon. Headmaster Goodwitch made it to her window to watch the chrome car that her students had spent so much of their lesson time building putter past. She sighed in relief that at least one section of the craziness was now over and they would return to their studies. She was just about to sit down at her desk for another pile of paperwork when she heard the rumble change pitch as the engine spun up, then the Doppler effect kicked in. Full noise of a V8 undercut with the screeching of tires losing the battle between friction and inertia rattled the walls. The Headmaster made it back to the window just in time to watch the first lap be completed, streetlights throwing shattered reflections as the beast of chrome sped beneath them. Her mind spun, inventing and discarding punishments as she tried to find something that would suit this blatant disturbance of her peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons
> 
> Bush Mechanics was a show on ABC back when I was in highschool. A group of Aboriginal mechanics would show off fixing up terrible cars in the middle of nowhere.
> 
> The car that the Warboys buy is a HX Holden Monaro Sedan. It's a very distinctive Australian muscle car from back when they looked like muscle cars. The parts they buy to upgrade it are the engine and gearbox from the Holden Special Vehicles 2010 Commodore upgrade. Will that 5.7 litre engine fit in the HX? I don't know and I don't really care. But it does sound more plausible then the 6.4 litre blocks that go in the new HSV's. If you buy a HSV or an FPV new, it comes with driving lessons to teach you how to deal with that much power under the hood.
> 
> "Start Ya Bastard" is an actual product. It's a spray bottle of engine starter fluid.
> 
> "Karked it" is a sort of common term for saying that something is dead. I haven't heard it for years because my industry's standard is NFG, standing for No Fucking Good.
> 
> Arvo is afternoon. Australia will shorten anything by sticking an 'o' or a 'y' sound at the end of the first syllable. Nicknames in that style are so common that it's a huge deal when Tarmac refuses to apply one to Mithralius.
> 
> In a meta note, I can feel that I'm rushing these more and that the quality is dropping as a result. I don't intend to slow down, I'd rather train myself to get faster then take a break and risk not completing the work. But I will hopefully get a chance to come back and tidy up some of these chapters, and put back in the plot points that have fallen out because I didn't have time.


	13. A Day at the Races

The date on the scroll message fell on a week of from classes. That morning saw a handful of the third years still hanging around Beacon, there being less and less work to travel to. The scroll pinged in Tarmac's pocket, and he brought it out so the rest of the Warboys could see what was on it. Nora craned forward over the table to see what it was well. It showed a message with just an address and a time, well after sundown.

“Ohhh, secret messages.” said Nora “Are you spies? Maybe they're spies Renny.”

“They're not spies Nora.”

“Are you sure? I think at least some of what we do counts as spying.” said Mullyangah.

“See Renny! We should go too, keep an eye on them.”

“Yes Nora. It's a date.”

Nora crashed. Her mouth closed, her hand fell open and the fork of pancake segments clattered back to her plate. Ren calmly finished the last of his breakfast, sculled the last of his tea and stepped back from the table. He had gotten two steps back when Nora recovered. With a squeal she launched herself from her seat, her legs colliding with the table and knocking it as she moved. Everyone sitting there was fast enough to catch their food before they wore it, and Ren was fast enough to catch Nora. He spun half a turn to bleed her momentum as she wrapped arms and legs around him.

“Ren, we need to go back to the room. To... Get ready, yes. Wait, we share the room with Jaune.”

“Jaune is away on a mission with Ruby and Weiss remember.”

“Great, let's go.”

Nora unwrapped her legs so that she was standing again, then flexed her back to get Ren's feet off the ground. A slight heave got Ren over her shoulder and she started to sprint towards the door. Ren waved as he was taken away.

“So, that's been coming for a while” said Blake.

“Nora's going to be coming for a while.” replied Yang.

“Yang, that was terrible.”

Yang turned to Bent “So, can the two of us come to this mystery meeting tonight? I'm bored.”

“That doesn't explain why you want me to come.” said Blake.

“Because then it's a double date!” Yang waggled her eyebrows at Blake. Blake twitched her ears away in response.

“Might be a problem. There's only five seats in Mithralius.” said Bent.

“Not a problem. We'll take Bumblebee and follow you there.”

“The more the merrier then. We'll let you know when to leave.”

“Wait! Mithralius does only have five seats. How are we taking Ren and Nora?” asked Critty.

“Guess who just volunteered to ride in the boot?” replied Bent.

“Brake fade.” swore Critty.

“It could be worse. Mully's going to be sitting between Ren and Nora in the back to make sure they don't get the seats dirty.”

Mully gently set his mug down and stared at Bent. “May the fleas of a thousand Beowolves infest your armpits.”

 

Just after dinner Mithralius and Bumblebee sat idling on the main road out of the Beacon compound. Tarmac sat in the driver's seat, idly tapping the outside of the door through the open window as he waited. It wasn't long before the last of the group joined them. Blake had dressed up for the occasion, layers of black and white clothing turning her into a study of sharp edges. Ren followed soon after in his usual impeccable dress. Nora was hanging off his arm and her shirt was on inside out. Bent straightened from where had been leaning on the passenger door.

“We're off to an illegal street race in an unknown location to crash the party. Everybody ready?”

Yang banged her fists together from where she sat astride Bumblebee. “I was born ready.” she declared. Blake swung onto the bike behind her. Nora yelled “Shotgun!” and darted for the door that Bent was still standing in front of. Ren pulled her back as Bent braced to block her. Front seat was the Lancer's spot if there was no perch.

“Nora, if you sit in the front you won't be able to sit next to me.” Ren offered. Nora pouted and glared at Bent, then opened the closest back door. Inside she found Mully already sitting in the middle and belted in.

“It's a conspiracy! They're spies I tell you, conspiring against me!” declared Nora. Ren put a hand on the top of Mithralius over her head and smoothly vaulted the car. He opened the far door and slipped inside, leaving Nora to sulkily climb in through her door. Once they were all inside, Ren counted heads and asked a question.

“Where is the fourth member of your team?”

There was a banging from the boot.

“He'll be fine.” said Bent.

 

The address given was near the walls of Vale, close to where Beacon used to stand. The shattered tip of the tower could be seen over the walls still with a petrified Dragon clinging to it. Inside the walls this part of Vale had been hardest hit by the Fall, and large parts of it were still to be rebuilt. Buildings stared with empty windows and scarred faces over roads that had been bulldozed clear and then left to some other time when there was people again to fill them. This small part of it was seeing life and noise again, with a rank of parked cars and haphazardly scattered bikes. The streetlights here worked and they shone on the gathering, people leaning on cars and wandering between them, greeting old friends. Tarmac added Mithralius to the end of the line while Yang took Bumblebee on a loop around the party. She pulled up and dropped the kickstand next to a pair of other bikers who had whooped at her as she passed. Blake slipped straight off the back of the bike, giving Yang room to exaggerate her dismount, flashing a long and toned leg as it came over the bike seat.

“Hey, haven't seen you around here before. You just get the bike?” asked one.

“No, I've had the bike for years, since I was old enough to ride. Only learned about this a few days ago.”

“It's a nice looking bike. You have fun riding it?”

“Oh yes, I love having something hot and throbbing between my legs.”

Blake shook her head and abandoned Yang as a lost cause for the night, picking her way through the groups of people to where the Warboys were arranging themselves around Mithralius. Mully was letting Critty out of the boot. Nora was her usual excited self, darting around Ren to look at everything while never being more then a double-arm's length away. Tarmac sat himself on the bonnet, leaning one arm on the air intake. All the Warboys had dressed up for the event, which meant pants that didn't double as body armour and long oilskin coats to ward off the chill night air.

“Multi-team meeting” called Bent as Blake reached them. “Critty, go keep an eye on Yang, we need her to drive someone back. Also, make friends while you're there. Mully, you're with Ren and Nora, but stay in the background. Nora, draw attention to yourself, people looking at you are people not looking at us. Critty, give Ren the case. Ren, this holds all the lien we could scrape together. I need you to find whoever is taking bets on this whole thing and put the lot on Tarmac to win. Tarmac, look after Mithralius. Answer questions when you get asked, you're here to make friends too. And Blake, why don't you come with me and we'll go see if we can find who is in charge of this?”

There were various nods and expressions of assent. Nora saluted and darted off towards the second-shiniest thing in the area. The shiniest was Mithralius, who Tarmac had parked so that the streetlights caught her best. Ren took the case and made his way after Nora. Mullyangah shrugged and followed them both. Critty took off towards where Yang was comparing car crash stories with her two new friends. Blake gestured with one hand, and Bent stepped forward to find whoever had brought them all here.

He moved towards the centre of the gathering, where three cars had been parked in a u-shape to form a room of sorts. In the group it contained was a face that Bent recognised for being aggressively unremarkable.

“Guy on the right, grey jacket. He's the one that we got the invite from.” Bent spoke under his breath to Blake. “That means the woman he's facing is probably in charge.”

When Bent got close enough, his bald head and unnaturally white skin were recognised. The grey jacketed man indicated them to the woman and she gestured a path open for them. Bent strode straight up and nodded to acknowledge her, Blake staying a pace behind and far enough out that she would have a clear run if weapons were drawn.

“And Junior's new thug graces us with his presence.” The sarcasm dripped from her words like syrup. “You're not as pretty as his regular thugs.”

“And yet they don't get an invite. So I'm not here for my pretty face.”

“Maybe if you had a pretty face. No, you're here because you can drive, and I need some new blood for my entertainment.”

“I can't drive, Tarmac drives. I can supply blood though.”

“No blood tonight, we are all here for entertainment. If you want to keep coming back then I will take you up on that offer.”

“Then what is on offer for entertainment?”

“You're right. We should start the drags. If you're competing, you had better pay the entry fee.”

Bent looked at Blake. “All our lien is in the case with Ren” he whispered.

Blake sighed and reached into the inside pocket of her jacket for her wallet.

 

“You here to race?” asked a short man with extensive central Mistralian tattoos over both forearms.

“Well, we're not here to fuck spiders.” replied Tarmac as he patted the air intake he was leaning on.

“What?”

Tarmac sighed. Why could nobody here understand plain language? “Yes, Mithralius and I are here for the races.”

“You named your car? You're really into this.”

“Of course she has a name. She is power and passion, packaged together and chromed to perfection. She lives and breathes, and when I take her by the hand she talks to me.”

“And based on that filter you're patting, I bet she's got a deep voice.”

“One you're all going to get to hear.”

“You've got to meet the rest of the regulars, you'll fit right in.”

As the Mistralian waved to beckon Tarmac over to the nearest group a figure stepped out onto the road and started drawing on the ground with spraypaint. Under a careful hand a checkered line and two box shapes appeared, along with artistic flourishes of wheels and flags. Once they were finished they walked to a nearby bike and took off along the road into the darkness. Tarmac judged it as a bit short of five hundred paces away where the bike's tail lights stopped moving. Another figure stepped into the painted designs, and stopped on the crossed flags that were just in front of the checkered line right in the middle of the road. Conversations had stilled as the painting was happening, and now that someone stood in the designs a sense of anticipation was building. In the stillness the female voice was clear and loud.

“You all know why we're here, and we're ready to begin. DO WE HAVE ANY CHALLENGERS?”

There was immediate scrambling as drivers went for their cars. Tarmac just watched as the chaos unfolded, then folded again into a vague order as two bikes parked in the marked boxes, just behind the line. Other bikes were forming up in pairs as riders and drivers challenged each other. Revving engines cut off any attempt to talk. Tarmac watched as a new woman stepped forward. She replaced the speaker at the spot on the painted flags, waving a real version of them over her head to draw attention to herself. When all eyes were on her, she stilled it with her free hand. The flag went up and left, flicking open in passing. The two bikes on the line revved harder. The flag flicked right. Both riders braced. The flag flicked left and down. Clutches engaged and both bikes were off. The one on the left rose onto it's back wheel, sudden torque pushing the engine up as well as forward. The rider on the right was braced low across the front and their bike kept level as it accelerated. It was a matter of only a handful of seconds before the bikes were braking again and a flashing light from the far end of the course showed which had gotten there first. As those two riders made their way back to the main gathering, the next two were already taking their place in the starting grid.

 

“Renny, did you see that! I want to wave the flag!”

“I'm sure you can get a chance with it later.”

“It's just like a hammer, but when you drop it people start instead of stop.”

Ren was grateful for Nora's excitable nature. For another it may have been exhausting to keep up with, but for Ren it was easy. He never had to worry about what to say or do in any situation, Nora would take the lead for them both. But right now he had something else he needed to do. He scanned the crowd, watching for money changing hands. He saw a few likely candidates and approached the closest one. “Hi!” called Nora when they got close enough.

“You two new?”

“And looking to make a little extra on the races.” replied Ren.

“Having something at stake does make watching more exciting. I'm not taking bets, you need to talk to that guy.” Ren's conversation partner pointed off towards a man in a small group who was making notes on his scroll. Ren thanked them and joined the indicated group, keeping an ear on Nora's running commentary as he did so. Three more races finished while the bookmaker worked through the group, and the bikes were giving way to the cars when Ren got to head of the line.

“So who's your favourite? I've got the best odds on anyone.” The bookmaker wasted no time in getting into his job.

“Are these the only things to bet on?”

“This is the warm up. Main event is a timed run through a course in the ruins.”

“I'd like to put all of this on whoever is driving that silver machine.” Ren offered the lien from the case the Warboys had given him as well as a sizable stack from his own pocket.

“You got a good feeling about them? Or maybe some inside information?”

Nora came to the rescue “That car's so shiny, it's got to be fast.”

“That it is. I'll give you eight to one.” Ren shook his hand as the bookmaker recorded the bet and handed Ren a small receipt.

“Ok Nora, now we can go see about getting you a chance to play with the flag.”

“Yay!”

 

Blake watched as one of the riders Yang had been talking to challenged her to a sprint and managed to hold her off for a close finish. Yang didn't take it badly, shaking hands with the winner and smiling broadly. That didn't mean she didn't immediately turn to Critty for a hushed conversation about how to make Bumblebee faster.

“Blake, I've got a favour to ask.” said Bent from next to her, drawing her back to her side of the event. “With this main event, can I get you to navigate for Tarmac? We barely know the city.” he continued.

Blake took the featureless scroll he was offering, open to a page of rules. She flicked through the words, only following about half of what was written.

“What would I have to do?” she asked, hoping that Bent knew what he was asking for.

“You'll be in the front passenger seat during the race. The course will get sent to that scroll when you're on the starting line, and you'll be telling Tarmac where to go.”

With the quick overview, the words began to make sense. “I can do this.” she said, slipping the scroll into a pocket.

“Thanks. Go join Tarmac, it shouldn't be too much longer before it starts.”

Blake took a last look towards where Critty was indicating something inside Bumblebee to Yang, then turned till she spotted the glare from Mithralius and found Tarmac standing near it talking to several of the other drivers who were watching the races. The spectators had spread over the whole length of the track as the races had gone on, so it was an easy walk to where Mithralius was parked. She opened the passenger door and leaned over it to listen in to the conversation that Tarmac was involved in. The technical details were going straight over her head so she focused on how each of the participants were reacting. Tarmac looked to be in his element and only one of the others looked nervous, spending more time looking at his shoes then at the others in the group.

The last of the short races started, and once the two cars reached the end, one winning by several lengths the flag bearer walked away from the line and the organiser took her spot back on the flags.

“Now the preliminaries are over, it is time for the MAIN EVENT. Race order is being sent to your scrolls as I speak. Please form an orderly line as that's the only way you all will get through this.”

The scroll in Blake's hand pinged, and an incoming message opened a new app on it. It gave a position in the start and a countdown until. The timer showed over twelve minutes, so Blake looked back up. It was pandemonium as drivers raced to vehicles and started them, calling for others as they tried to organise themselves. Tarmac jogged lightly to Mithralius, and went straight past Blake to open the driver's door and drop into the seat. Blake lowered herself inside and closed her door, showing the scroll to Tarmac once they were both seated.

“We have fourteenth start, and we've got a bit over eleven minutes until then.”

“We?” asked Tarmac.

“The course will be sent to this scroll when we're about to start. I'll be reading the course for you and navigating.”

“Alright. Get your belt on then.”

Blake reached over her shoulder for the standard belt and couldn't find it. She started patting around looking for it when Tarmac noticed what she was doing.

“The buckle's next to your inside leg, pull it up first. Now get the one from behind the seat over your opposite shoulder and clip them together. The other four don't matter the order, there's one over your other shoulder and next to your other leg, then one from each side level with the buckle.”

Blake followed the instructions and built the star in front of herself. She looked over at the similar arrangement on Tarmac's chest to make sure she had gotten it right. Tarmac checked it over as well.

“Good, make sure it's nice and tight. If you're not strapped in when I drop the clutch in this thing, you're going to end up in the back seat.”

The rest of the time before the start was spent in silence, both of them watching as other cars started from the line in forty second intervals. When they were the second vehicle in the line Tarmac interlaced his fingers and bowed his head over them. Blake's extra ears caught his muttering.

“By my deeds I honour him, and may the Sun witness those deeds. By my deeds I honour him, and may the Sun witness those deeds.”

The car in front sped off as it's timer hit zero, and Blake nudged Tarmac to get him to roll forward that last section. The scroll she was holding opened a map which she zoomed in on quickly and started to work out the path that they were supposed to follow. It was mostly twists through back streets except for a straight along what used to be a ring-road which ended with a hairpin turn through an intersection and then a few more twists until finishing back at the starting line. She looked up and saw the first of the vehicles coming in to finish, with another set of headlights not far behind. Her eyes turned to the waving flag, and then they widened in shock. Nora took a hand off the flag to wave back, huntress muscles letting her move the long pole with one hand. Nora brought the flag straight up. The counter on the scroll hit four seconds. Tarmac pushed play on the stereo. The counter hit two. Nora brought the flag down. The tachometer needle went up, the first notes of an electric guitar fighting to be heard over the engine roar. Blake brought her ears down in an attempt to cut the noise that was a physical thing, the padding in her seat not enough to cut all the vibration. Then the counter hit zero, the flag in Nora's hand reached the bottom of it's arc and Tarmac's foot came off the clutch.

Mithralius leapt. Nearly a ton of metal accelerated as precision componentry cracked open raw dust and transferred all that power to the ground beneath the wheels. The ground pushed back and inertia gave way. Blake felt the chair try to swallow her as her body tried to catch up with the movement. Tarmac hummed along as his hand snapped from the wheel to the gearstick, leg and arm moving together and the engine note dropping as second gear caught.

“Take the third left” Blake called as she remembered her job.

Brakes and downshifting at the second left turn brought the speed down enough that the hard turn only took two wheels off the ground, not all four. Straps cut into Blake's side as she was thrown into the harness. As soon as all four wheels were back on the ground Mithralius was accelerating again and Blake was calling the next set of directions.

It was like entering a different world, Blake mused. One where friction was under Tarmac's command and inertia was a vague suggestion rather then an expression of physical laws. She had spent almost all her life learning to fight, learning to control her body and her weapon. This ride was obviously what happened when somebody spent the same time and effort learning to control a car. Tarmac's hands spun around the wheel, only straying from it for long enough to change gears as he swept through deserted and rubble-filled streets. And he did it all while singing along with something about a Joker and a Thief. Blake wasn't sure, the noise of everything was blending into a cacophony of pain.

About the point the song changed a set of tail lights came into view in the distance. They flicked in and out of sight around corners but came closer with each turn. Mithralius caught up to the other vehicle at a round about that the other driver made the mistake of taking the correct way while Tarmac wove through the wrong lane. The lighter Mistralian-made car accelerated quicker then Mithralius could but was now behind and couldn't get back to matching speed. Blake waved at the driver as they passed. It felt like the right thing to do. Tarmac hummed along to the bass line of the new track, paying no attention to the headlights behind him.

The three-quarter mark of the track came up with the ring road, a dual lane each way divided highway that had provided a passage right along the walls of Vale when they had stood. In the distance was another set of tail lights glowing brightly as their driver braked. Tarmac took that as a challenge and the long sweeping curve allowed Mithralius to do what she was best at. Tarmac had made fourth gear when the car in front swung around at the intersection and started to go back the other way. He didn't slow down.

“Hairpin. HAIRPIN!” Blake cried as the broken section of road just past the intersection came closer and closer.

“Have you been to the carnival?” asked Tarmac in time with the new song, then he moved. He dropped two gears and moved his foot across to the brake, momentum disappearing as the wheels were forced to turn the motor and he started to swing across the lanes towards the centre of the turn. Blake was sure it wasn't going to be enough. Then a touch of the clutch and handbrake sent the rear wheels skidding and a hard turn of the steering wheel caused the whole car to rotate around the mass of metal that was the engine. Blake's eyes stared straight forward over the bonnet, watching the traffic light pole at the end of the concrete barriers stay fixed in front of her as the rest of the world swung around her like a fairground ride. Another touch of the clutch and swing of the wheel brought Mithralius back into line and she was off again, her higher top speed letting her catch up to the car that was now centred in front of her.

“You've got a left turn off this highway, then two rights before we're at the finish line” called Blake when she had recovered, knuckles white around the scroll in her hands. Tarmac responded with something about a White Unicorn and just followed the car in front through another hard two-wheeled turn.

The next handful of seconds were a dance between partners where the leader really did not want to give up. The driver in front picked lines that prevented Tarmac from having room to pass rather then for maximum speed through the last few obstacles.

“Final corner. Gentle right.” Blake called.

Tarmac slowed down more then usual, letting the other driver having the ideal lane while he took the corner tighter and gave himself a clear shot at the finish line. The last straight opened up into a drag with one car in each lane. Nora was jumping up and down in excitement from where she was standing at the finish line. Mithralius' engine reached the highest pitch that Blake had heard from it and Tarmac had only a single hand on the top of the steering wheel so he didn't have to move away from the gearstick each time he shifted. They were catching, and Blake moved the scroll to a single hand ready to wave as they passed. She was looking sideways at the c-pillar of the other car when Nora's shocked face passed between the two cars. The scroll in her hand chimed to indicate that it had passed the finish line and the time they had taken flashed up on the screen.

Brakes from both vehicles screamed as they burned momentum, coming to a halt well away from the line and the vehicles that had yet to finish. Blake breathed a sigh of relief in the sudden silence, then slapped the button in the centre of the harness to release herself. She made it out of the car alright, but then the adrenaline letoff hit and she started to shake, her legs barely able to support herself. Yang's strong arms surrounded and supported her, the cold of the metal one a welcome chill against her overheating skin.

Tarmac had to be helped from his seat by Bent, who murmured supporting words as he got him standing and encouraged him to walk. Tarmac rambled with both his words and his legs, neither truly under his control.

“I've been touched by V8. I put my hands in place and I felt him reach through me and take the wheel. He moved with my hands and my feet. I have been touched and nothing else will ever be as Shiny as what I just did.”

“We Witnessed it for you Tarmac, you are historic. Now keep walking, one foot in front of the other.” Bent reassured.

“Yang?” asked Blake. Yang hummed to show she was paying attention. “I doubt I'll be complaining about your riding again.”

 

Mullyangah reappeared as the group watched the last eight cars come in. Nora waved the flag for each one as they crossed the line then was chased off by the announcer from before. Ren collected her and got her away from the scene that was starting.

“Have we all HAD FUN? I THOUGHT SO! I would say that we're all winners because we all had fun, but MOST OF YOU ARE NOT WINNERS! Your finish positions have been sent to your scrolls, so if the third place getter could step UP TO THE PODIUM!”

Blake showed everybody else the scroll she still clutched. Next to the completion time for the course was a numeral 1, gently blinking. The Warboys radiated smug satisfaction except for Tarmac who was still coming down from his religious experience.

There wasn't a podium, but the third place pair were shown off to the crowd from the centre of the finish line and presented with a small token that glittered under the headlights and streetlights. The second place pair was similarly called up.

“I don't like this.” said Mully. He reached over and popped the boot of Mithralius, drawing wrapped long packages out of it. Bent's new sword came out of one and disappeared under the long coat. Mully's spears came out of another and he pinned the blunt ends between bare toes to hold them up while keeping his hands free.

When the call was made for first place, Tarmac had to be pushed forward. Blake took an arm as he stumbled again and managed to make it look like he was holding more then a friend as she supported him.

“Get up there, collect the prize, wave to the crowd, don't agree to anything.” was Bent's parting advice.

Mully watched the crowd as the announcer presented Tarmac and Blake to them, his hand tapping on the carved wood of his spears. Nobody seemed to recognise them, and there was no more anger at the winners then he expected. Hands were shook, a glittering disk was held aloft and some words were exchanged that couldn't be heard over the crowd. Tarmac managed to walk back under his own power.

“So?” asked Bent.

Tarmac brought out the disk so that they could all have a closer look. It was a simple titanium circle with a number 1 engraved into it, and the day's date. It had been anodised and then polished so that the deeper sections of the engraving glowed gold under the lights.

“Anything else?”

“She asked to see our scroll, said it was to check we were the winning team. She had it for long enough to load something onto it.” replied Blake.

Bent nodded acknowledgment, then looked around.

“Who are we missing?”

“Just Ren and Nora” said Mully, indicating where Yang was approaching them. Yang slung an arm around Blake and asked if she was ready to go. Blake was about to agree when Ren and Nora came out of the crowd, Ren carrying the case that the Warboys had left him. He placed it on the bonnet, then got everyone to gather round before he cracked it open. Inside were stacks of lien chits that looked like they belonged in a gangster movie. He closed it again.

“A third of that is mine, I put my own money down on you in the same bet.”

“I think you should pay me back for the entry fee.” said Blake.

“Five times the fee suitable?” asked Bent. Blake nodded.

Ren reopened the case and lien was split between the group. Blake made a small show of fanning herself with a handful of lien before it all vanished inside her jacket and she walked off with Yang towards Bumblebee. Ren sorted his cut, then passed the case back to Critty. Mully restacked weapons in the boot, then stacked Critty on top of them. They took their places inside the cab and as Tarmac drove sedately away Nora opened her mouth.

“So Renny, what are you going to do with all your new loot?”

“I feel like going into town tomorrow and spoiling you.”

Nora cheered.

“Nora.” said Mully from his spot between them. “Why do you still have the flag?”

“Ummm. They didn't ask for it back?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons.
> 
> "May the fleas of a thousand camels cursed with the fleas of a thousand dogs infest your armpits" is a traditional curse that I think central Australia inherited from the Afgan Camellers way back. We may also have made it up ourselves.
> 
> "Get something hot and throbbing between your legs" was a motorcycle advert that my mum remembers, so way before all of your time. It didn't last particularly long, something about being obscene. In a side note, if anybody feels like drawing Yang posing on Bumblebee with a Chicko Roll in hand, that'd be bonza.
> 
> “I can't drive, Tarmac drives. I can supply blood though.” This is a valid sentence in Australian English. Australians will do this thing where they put the connective word that should be between the sentences at the end of the second sentence, turning the second sentence into a qualifier for the first. This confuses everybody. Makes perfect sense but. If you're from SA, the connective word is 'though', if you're from Queensland it's 'but'. If you're from North Queensland it's 'ay but'.
> 
> "Not here to fuck spiders" is an expression of agreement that you're working. It's used as a stupid answer to a stupid question. Seems to be from Sydney/Coastal NSW.
> 
> Gambling is a huge thing in Australia. How big? We're the world leaders in number of poker machines per unit population and world leader in gambling losses per unit population. There's a horse race called "The Race That Stops The Nation" because everyone (over 50% of the population) bets on it nad has to listen to find out if they've won. The title of this chapter is also a gambling reference, as A Day At The Races is an attempt to make watching horses run in circles sound classier.
> 
> The song that Tarmac starts listening to at the beginning of the race is "Joker and the Thief" by Wolfmother, not "All Along The Watchtowers" by Hendrix. The next two are Dimension by Wolfmother and White Unicorn also by Wolfmother. This means he's got Wolfmother's first, self-titled, album playing. I'd just like to point out here just how hard it is to find songs for this. I'm listening to something that I think will be perfect, and then they'll refer to something that doesn't exist in Remnant. Or like Spiderbait's Black Betty, it's actually a cover of somebody else's song (Ram Jam).
> 
> The C-Pillar of a car is the third one back. First is A, second is B.
> 
> This is the first chapter in a few weeks that I've been completely happy with. Everything happened where it should, and there was a chance for everybody to get something done. This was also 40% longer then my average and that may have something to do with it. Leaving on a high note, there won't be a chapter next week. I've got other stuff I need to do and not that much free time.


	14. Strictly Ballroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up cunts, because Brimstone is back! With a chapter that has basically no action and is far longer then my normal wordcount. The remainder of this story is plotted, so I'm going to see if I can get this finished by the end of the year.
> 
> Also, there's an issue with the timing. The dance planning scenes should have gone in the earlier chapter "Bush Mechanics" so that it felt like there was time to plan everything and so that chapter had some breaks from the A-plot of building Mithralius. Something else to fix if I ever re-edit this.

Jaune sat at the table, staring at the mug in front of him. Occasionally he shuddered. He lifted the empty mug and tried to drink from it, then put it back down.

“Are you... Ok?” asked Ruby, dreading the answer.

Jaune looked up and physically braced himself. “While we were away, Ren and Nora got together.”

“Together-together?” Ruby interrupted.

“Yes.”

Rudy squeed. “That's so cute. They've needed that for years.”

“So Nora was telling me. She told me all about what she needed from Ren. And then she told me how much she got. In great detail. I can't look at any of the surfaces in the room the same way again.”

“OH.” Ruby shook when she realised what Jaune was implying.

“And while she was going on, Ren just came up from behind and grabbed her. You know how he's really good at grappling and submission holds? Now I know why he's been practicing them. Also, I'm never practicing against him again.”

Ruby waved her hands in front of her face, trying to physically ward off the images in her mind. Jaune pushed the mug away from him.

“So, can I stay in your room tonight? And for the next” he consulted a mental calendar “four months?”

“Ummm...” Ruby thought about what the other members of her team would think about Jaune sleeping on their floor. He would have to sleep on the floor, it wasn't like they had a spare bed and nobody would want to share... with... him... An image of Yang punching Jaune through the wall replaced the previous image in her mind. “No, staying in our room isn't going to work. Is there any way you can get them to stop?”

“The only person who could ever get Nora to not do something she wanted to was Ren, and at this point Ren is the last person who wants her to stop.”

“Ren wants who to stop?” asked Yang as she sat down.

“You haven't heard him and Nora?” asked Blake as she sat down across from Yang.

“Heard? I'm thinking of making recordings. They're just so _passionate_.”

“But I have to live with that.” stated Jaune.

“I suggest earplugs. Probably an eye mask too.” said Blake.

“I was hoping to move in with you across the hall.”

“Absolutely not.” said Weiss as she sat down with her second cup of coffee for the morning. “There isn't room for another bed in the room and I'm not having you invading my space.” Ruby fidgeted in her seat at Weiss' words.

“Maybe you should take this up with Headmistress Goodwitch?” suggested Ruby.

“And while you're there, can you ask her what we're doing for the dance this year? Not having a ballroom is no excuse for not having a party.” said Yang.

 

Team Brimstone sat around a parcel in their room, delivered from the Vacuoan embassy that morning. While the Spire shouldn't have sent anything dangerous, the locked metal case and “diplomatic bag” anti-tampering stickers made them worried. It was easily big enough to hold a pair of rifles, or stacks of the raw Dust heads that turned wooden spears into weapons that could kill a Grimm.

“So, what is the combination?” asked Critty.

“No idea. I think they forgot to tell us.” replied Bent.

“So we just cut it open?” Critty sounded far too happy at his suggestion.

“Sure.” Bent looked up from the case as Critty shuffled around and came up with something. “You keep an angle grinder under your bed?”

“You never know when you're going to wake up and something will need a good polishing.” was the reply as Critty locked a thin cutting disc into the grinder. A shower of sparks carefully directed onto the bare concrete wall and the lock fell away. Bent pulled open the lid and looked down at stacks of individually wrapped packages.

“They sent us food. And letters, but more importantly, food.”

Bent left the other to sort through the food and mementos that had been packaged for travel and started reading the letters. Top of the list was a letter from the Furisoa, a polite but very firm reminder of their loyalties. There was a letter from Imperator Karst, news of home and complaints that the latest generation of Warboys was growing soft with numbers of Grimm being sighted dropping. Karst also talked briefly of other Warboys having been sent out of the Spire and that the last few months had been productive. Next was a letter from a Mother whose name Bent didn't recognise filling a role they had never needed before. She wrote of what they still needed to know about the kingdoms now that their world was more then the Spire and the endless Grimm. After that the letters became more personal. Bent passed a letter from a Blacktongue to Critty and notes from others to Tarmac and Mullyangah. One last was labeled for him, and he unfolded it to a single sheet for paper with a delicately sketched floral arrangement and a name. The name brought back memories and he carefully refolded the sheet with a small smile.

Tarmac's exclamation of surprise brought him back to the room, where Tarmac was holding up a simple scroll, it's menu open.

“They sent music! Somebody recorded the last B&S and sent us a copy.”

 

“Like rabbits Headmistress Goodwitch. Like rabbits.”

“I do remember being young Mr Arc. You are fortunate that enrollments are significantly less then expected this year and we do have currently unused rooms. Ren and Valkyrie will also be reminded about what is appropriate behaviour for students of Beacon.”

Jaune sighed in relief, then started talking again. “While I am here, I have been asked to ask you if there are any plans for the formal dance this year?”

“Do you know what the reward for good work is Mr Arc?”

“Umm. Is this a trick question?”

“Yes, it is. The reward for good work is more work. Tell Ms Xiao-Long that she is responsible for the organisation of the second semester dance. If she has any further questions, the answer will be to deal with it herself.”

 

Bent and Mullyangah sat across from Junior at a table in one of the back rooms of the club, the scroll in question sitting between them. They had just finished explaining what went on at the race meet and Junior picked up the scroll.

“This sounds bigger and better organised then I thought, but apart from the obvious traffic offenses and gambling, there's nothing illegal in it. You say everything was run through this scroll?”

Bent nodded his agreement.

“I've got a guy who deals with this sort of thing. He'll make a copy of everything off the scroll and I can sort through it later. Let me know if you get any more messages on it.”

 

After classes for the day team RWBY claimed a whole bench in the communal dining hall, which they rapidly covered with notes and images. The two loudest were Weiss and Yang, currently arguing over the venue.

“I don't care if you know the owner and he'll give us a good price, we are not holding a formal ball at a nightclub!”

“It's a perfect solution. It already has a dance floor and a sound system. It will be easy to decorate and it will be cheap which is particularly important seeing as we don't have a budget.”

“And the fact that it serves alcohol played no part in your decision? None the less, it is completely inappropriate to hold an event such as this, there. We are representing Beacon and trying to rebuild the good name of the school.”

“Ruby, help your sister out here. You don't want a stuffy formal ball do you?”

“I don't want any ball, so I don't care where you hold it.”

“Blake?” Yang's question held a hint of desperation.

“I agree with Weiss.”

Both Weiss and Yang stared at their faunus teammate.

“This ball isn't about what we want, it's about trying to rejoin what Beacon is now” she waved a hand at the stark concrete walls “with what it used to be. We should be trying to make this as much like the balls of the past as we can.”

“Does that include a cross-dressing Jaune?” asked Yang.

“Jaune will be required to keep those hairy legs of his hidden in a pair of formal trousers at all times.” declared Wiess. “Still, the basic idea of Yang's is good. I am sure some organisation would be grateful for the chance to host such an event for the school and to be publicly seen supporting Beacon.”

 

Partway through a lecture from Headmistress Goodwitch about the integration of fixed defensive emplacements and automated turrets into huntsman style combat, the spare scroll in Tarmac's pocket vibrated. A luckily timed question from Dove about the differences between automated and human-controlled turrets distracted her enough for Tarmac to check what had disturbed it. On the screen was a simple message, referring to the “promise of blood” and giving a scroll number to contact. Tarmac slipped the scroll back into a pocket and made a mental note to bring it up with Bent once class was over.

In the short break between classes Tarmac pulled Bent aside and showed him the message. Bent took the scroll, then punched the number into his messaging app and wrote a short and vague message about “fulfilling the promise” before checking his was set to vibrate only.

“Come on, if anything happens it won't be till this evening.”

Tarmac idly wished that it would happen sooner. He was good at maths, but would have loved the excuse to get out of Port's upcoming lecture on compound interest.

 

Weiss dropped a thin stack of paper on the bench between her and Yang while Ruby picked at her dinner next to them.

“We have an agreement from the RSL that Beacon can hold the ball in their main hall. They are waiving the hire fee for the night. Here is the letter that they have sent and I took the initiative of printing the details of the hall from their site.” she said.

Ruby swallowed “That's great! Umm, who are the RSL?”

“Revolutionary Survivors League. Did you pay no attention to your own history?”

“I was raised in the country remember. History happened to other people.”

“The Colour Revolution happened to literally _everybody_. That was the whole point of the revolution.”

“Does that mean I can be a member of the League?”

“No, you dolt! It's for people who fought in and survived the Revolution.”

“Going back to you not insulting my sister.” said Yang “Now that we have a venue, what needs to be organised next?”

“Decorations, catering, music. Are we having a theme for the event?”

“No ideas for a theme, but we should have a dance off.”

Weiss just stared at Yang, her pen bouncing against the table.

“Come on, the best part of the dance last time was Juniper having a routine they had practiced. How cool would it be if there was more of that?”

“I completely agree so long as I don't have to be part of it.”

“You're really going to miss out on the most fun you'll have all year?” asked Yang of Ruby.

“Whatever you're thinking sis, forget it right now.”

 

A response had come through on Bent's scroll. It gave simply a time, street corner and a date some four days in the future.

“That'll be another sleepless night.” said Mullyangah as he read it.

“Do you even know what you've agreed to?” asked Tarmac.

“No, but can it really be worse then anything we've already done?” replied Bent.

“Oh, I hope so.” said Critty.

There was a knock at the door and several pieces of evidence disappeared under mattresses and into pockets. Mully was closest and opened the door to find Jaune waiting there.

“Bent, can I talk to you? Team leader business.”

“Sure. Pull up a stump. The rest of you go and amuse yourselves”

Jaune looked confused, then sat on the bed that Bent was gesturing to as the rest of Brimstone filed out of the room.

“So, back when you rescued us from Salem's Tower, I was talking to your doctor and he was talking about how many people don't come back. How do you deal with that?”

“We live, we die, we live again. We are born into a world that does it's best to kill us.”

“That's not really helpful.”

“Why aren't you talking this out with someone who was raised like you?”

“Because every time I look at them, in this place, I see _her_ out of the corner of my eye.”

“Jaune, tell me a story. Who is it that you see.”

Jaune's voice cracked as he began to talk.

“Years ago, a dumb kid faked his way into school. He wasn't good enough to be there but he'd read too many stories and wanted to be a hero. On his first day he met a girl who went out of her way to help him. She knew all his secrets and kept them. She trained him to keep up with the others in the school and she even supported him when he foolishly tried to chase other women. On the day she told him how she felt, she locked him away and walked off to her death. I loved her and I had to _watch her walk away_.”

“And why today?”

“Because of that dance. It was the best night of my time here. She was beautiful. Graceful. Her hair blending straight into that dress. I did so much for her that night. Now it's coming again and Yang wants to organise a dance off and Nora wants me to choreograph again and I every time I see where she should be and I just can't do it.”

“So why are you talking to me?”

“Because I thought you could help. Tell me how to stop feeling like this so that I can go to the dance.”

“She suffered so that you didn't have to. It's what we do when we choose to fight. Now you choose to suffer so that your friends don't have to. And you are choosing to suffer. You could forget her, walk away and never see any of the people who remind you of her. Just like she walked away from you. You can keep doing what you are doing as well, holding onto that what-if and letting a future that never was ruin the present that you have.”

“You don't have any good suggestions?”

“Do you know why we yell 'Witness' during fights? It's how we tell each other that we will be remembered. She should have let you Witness for her, given you a conclusion to her story.”

“I'm not sure that watching her death would have made me feel any better about this. Next time I come to you for advice, remind me not to.”

“If what we do was easy Jaune, everybody would be doing it. Till next time then.”

 

A group of excited students were murmuring around the first of the posters for the Beacon dance. Critty had to duck through them to be able to see, they grew Hunters tall in Vale. The poster was simple, elegant and informative, clearly something that Weiss had a hand in. The murmurs around him suggested that everybody was interested, particularly in what people were going to do for the “dance competition” that was written as one of the major events of the night. He marked the details in his mind and filtered back out of the crowd to where the rest of the team was waiting.

“Far as I can tell, it's their version of a B&S. It's this weekend, day after we're meant to be running that thing for Race Lady. The big news is the dance competition.”

“We should get in on that.” said Tarmac.

“Three days to teach you lot a new set of steps? We're lucky that care package included some music I can actually work with.” replied Mullyangah.

“You have something in mind?”

“You remember the Nutbush?”

 

At exactly the date and time specified in the scroll message, Mithralius idled to a stop at the intersection given. This was of course to hide that fact that they had pulled up a block away half an hour ago and let Mully out to have a squizz at the place. It had been a lower class residential area before the Fall of Beacon, and being too close to the site of the earlier breach it had been overrun again. People had moved back in of course, there was never enough space within the walls. Some of those people were wandering around and Bent picked a familiar generic face out of the few that were there.

“There's our guy.” he said, nodding in the direction so that Tarmac and Critty could follow him. Critty popped open the boot as he walked around and threw Bent his sword while Tarmac stayed in his seat. The two wrenches slapped against Critty's thighs as he joined Bent.

“So, what do you have us for here anyway?” asked Bent as soon as their aggressively unremarkable contact looked at them.

“This area is starting to get a bit more attention then we would like. Might be up for gentrification soon. We're moving operations.”

“What do you need us for?”

“Keep the locals out of the way, help load the trucks.”

“And keeping the locals out needs blood?”

“They've got their own little neighbourhood watch group. But with more guns and less calling the cops.”

“Yay.”

  
Everything went fine until the first of the moving trucks turned up. A generic short tipper tray that looked like it should be shifting roadbase or topsoil rather then what came out from behind the locked roller door that it parked in front of. A trio of workers in stained overalls started wheeling out what Bent recognised as most of a workshop, because Critty had been collecting almost exactly the same tools. Critty whistled appreciatively at some of the gear going past. But the truck stopping and the light and movement had drawn attention from the locals. Bent had watched a runner leave almost as soon as the truck's brakes had started and now new faces were filtering in. It was another cold night and the oversize coats and scarves could easily conceal weapons and identities.

“Critty, stop drooling. Take the right and look menacing.”

Critty pulled his two weapons off the rings on his belt and sprung the blade on one of them out. Then he amused himself by using a piece of sharpened steel as long as his forearm to clean under his fingernails. Bent unwrapped the fabric that had been around his sword and twisted the blade so that it caught the light. Everything really did look better in chrome. The weapons were a declaration, and with them out the battle lines started to form. Those who didn't have a reason to be there slunk away into shadows and alleys, careful not to turn their backs on whatever was about to happen. The people here to defend their turf made a simple skirmish line, the bigger in front in a staggered row with a clear spokesperson slightly forward, and a few behind the line who would be either messengers or would be throwing things over the top. Bent and the spokesperson stepped forward.

Bent planted the tip of his sword into a crack in the road and leaned on it with one hand.

“That's a lot of people to welcome me to the neighbourhood. I didn't realise I was this important.” he declared, booming his voice out over everyone that was gathered there.

“It's not you, it's your friends behind. They've been hiding out in there and not saying hello when we came around. Not very neighbourly of them.” the spokesperson replied. It was a high pitched male voice, but the scarf wrapped over the bottom half of the face and the long tangled hair prevented any further identification.

“And now they're leaving, so you can replace them with a better set of neighbours.”

“But they've been living in our buildings, working out of them too. They're behind on the rent.”

“Bit late to evict them.”

“We weren't thinking eviction, we were thinking repossession.”

With those words, the spokeperson pulled their hand out from under the heavy coat they were wearing. It held a long knife that was getting to machete status but not quite there. Glints of steel in the streetlights showed as others pulled long knives and guns. A flash of light over the back was someone using a lighter to start a cigarette.

Bent rapped his blade against the new, heavier armoured jeans he wore, metal clanging against metal. With all eyes on him again he rotated his wrist and brought the blade smoothly across his off hand. In the dark it was easy to see the distinctive flash of an active aura preventing it from cutting the skin.

“I'd think a bit more before you come over here. You stay there, we drive away with our gear, everybody gets to go home.”

The group spread out, those with melee weapons moving to cover those who had guns rather then rushing forward.

“You may be all fancy there with your aura, but no matter how good you are we can take you out. You walk away, we take what is ours, everybody gets to go home.” the spokesperson mocked by echoing Bent's words.

“I'm good, Critty's good,” Critty waved with a hand full of short sword as his name was mentioned “you know who's better though? The guy behind you.”

“You mean all my guys behind me?”

A wooden spear flew out of the darkness and Bent grabbed it from the sky in his off hand.

“No, I mean my guy behind you.”

The clattering as Bent dropped the spear sounded loud in the sudden stillness. Groups reformed again, trying to find where the spear had come from and guard against the vague threat. The impasse was broken by the truck's engine starting up with a shake of the cab and a burst of exhaust. The last worker out of the shed left the roller door open to show it was empty.

“I don't think there's anything left for you here.” said Bent as he and Critty started backing towards where Tarmac had kept Mithralius idling. Tarmac leaned over to pop the door so that they didn't have to take their hands off weapons until the last moment.

“That went well. We'll pick Mully up at the same place we let him off.”

While waiting for Mullyangah to walk back from wherever he had been, Bent's scroll buzzed from a waiting call. He flicked it up to his ear and then pulled it away when Junior's voice bellowed out of it.

“Right. Did any of you do _anything_ to piss Junior off?”

Critty pointed at himself with a shocked expression.

“Yes, I'm looking at you.”

Junior's voice paused from the scroll. Bent raised it back to his ear just to find the break was Junior taking a breath. Bent started to take mental notes of what he was sure were curse words that he hadn't heard before. Mully reappeared and tapped Critty, asking who was on the other end of the scroll.

“Junior. Sounds like he's not happy with us.”

Bent nodded along and made vague agreeing noises into the scroll. Junior seemed to wind down as Bent was now able to get the scroll all the way to his ear. He agreed with one last thing then hung up.

“We got played. While we were here Junior's club got hit. It was messy but the Malachite twins ended most of the problem. Does anybody have any good news?”

“It wasn't my fault?” suggested Critty.

“Those trackers that Junior left with us? There's one on the cab and one on the tarp of the truck. Wherever that gear ends up, we'll know.” said Mully.

“Nice. Now get in, we've got a dance tomorrow night to prepare for.”

 

Weiss and Yang stood outside the RSL hall in an echo of their positions from this night in their first year. The turnout for the night was much smaller this time around, with Beacon's reduced enrollment and no upcoming Vytal festival to draw more hunters in training to the city. Much of their work was a formality as the reduced numbers meant they knew at least by face everyone who was coming. The arrival of team Cardinal interrupted their easy night. Yang glared daggers at the Malachite twins, who were hanging off the arms of Dove and Sky, Cardin had a large square of plywood with him, big enough that it was giving him trouble to carry it and Russel's loaded knife belt was visible under his formal jacket.

“Russel, this is a social event. Weapons are not appropriate attire.” Weiss opened the argument.

“A social event for the future protectors of Remnant. Were we invited to a similar event hosted outside the school, our weapons may be appropriate to bring as symbols of our role.” Cardin was heir to the Winchester fortune and while it was no match to the Schnee name in terms of money, it was money as old as the hills the name owned and as such he was experienced in this form of social warfare.

“But this is hosted by Beacon. Everyone here is an experienced killer, so there is no need for weapons to be worn. If anything, this is the one night where we do not need to appear as the hunters that we are.”

Cardin was opening his mouth to reply when Russel spoke over the top of him.

“Relax, Schnee and Winchester. The daggers are for the dance-off, as is that slab of wood that Cardin's got. Now let us in, there's a punch bowl I need to spike.”

“I love everything about that sentence.” said Yang with finger guns pointed at Russel.

“Ruby will be drinking that punch.” said Weiss.

“NO SPIKING THE PUNCH!” Yang yelled at Russel's retreating back. Russel just flipped her off over his head.

Brimstone arrived almost exactly on time, having taken Mithralius rather then the Beacon provided transport. Bent negotiated their entrance while Weiss tried to work out who had suggested the clothing. It wasn't that the rust and silver colour scheme was bad, and inverting it on Mully emphasised his skin while still matching him to the group. It was more that the outfits were over a century out of fashion and were clearly meant for taller people then the Warboys. Then there was the question of where they had gotten those matching pairs of Vacouan boots with the high sides and decorative embroidery. Her eyes tracked sideways across them and stopped at a pair of black feet. She shuddered slightly, but had never seen Mully wear a pair of shoes and had long ago given him up as a lost cause. Yang's exclamation of surprise brought her eyes up and to the next in line.

“Hei Xong.” the large man said. “Here is my invitation.”

Weiss certainly hadn't sent an invitation to any Hei Xong, and she had personally overseen all of them. She looked down at the card that Yang was tilting to show her. Cordially invited, date to formal event... She caught herself as she recognised the handwriting.

“You're _Headmistress Goodwitch's_ date?” asked Yang.

Hei beamed, straightening an already impeccable tie that disappeared into an exquisite black waistcoat in a herringbone weave.

“I have the honour of accompanying Glynda, yes.”

Weiss had heard that this was happening. Russel had told her, Junior had been seen spending time at Beacon. But to hear it from his mouth rendered her speechless. She handed back the card and waved him inside.

 

The ball was in full swing inside, with old friendships being reaffirmed and new friendships built over classic late teenage activity. Awkwardly standing around and occasionally talking. Yang facepalmed as she took it all in.

“This is exactly what I was trying to fix with a dance off.” she confessed to Weiss.

“I think I can help.” came Junior's deep voice. “Can you give me a slow dance song?”

Yang didn't have any better ideas, and a quick glance at Weiss revealed she didn't either. Pulling up the control app for the sound system on her scroll, Yang picked out an appropriate piece of music. As it started, Junior strode out into the centre of the empty dance floor and called out for Miss Goodwitch. When she stood and faced him, he bowed extravagantly and rose with one hand outstretched.

“May I have this dance?”

Miss Goodwitch stepped forward, and placed her hand in Junior's waiting one. When Junior pulled her forward the rest of the way and gathered her into starting waltz position, it was as Glynda that she smiled.

With the floor to themselves Junior moved easily through the counts of three, using his longer legs to lead Glynda, keeping her turning and facing outwards each step. A half circuit of the room, enough time to be seen by every one of her students and then Junior brought her back to the centre. A shift of his hands on her that she had been waiting for, and on the next beat his leading hand pulled up and over, his off hand pushing her into the spin. Glynda's dress didn't rise as she spun through the turn, rather it flowed like oil, black shining to a rich purple as it caught the light. When the spin ended she was much closer to Junior then the decorous distance she had held before. Junior leaned forward and murmured something in her ear, and when the timing matched the music again they moved and were doing so properly. Chest to chest, staring into each others eyes. Not as lovers, rather as two violent individuals watching each other's eyes to know when the other would strike. And strike they did, the traditional steps of a waltz turned into a clash for dominance. Every step was smooth and quiet, feet sliding through complicated patterns in synchronised movements. When the final notes sounded of the song, Glynda spun one last time and finished well away from Junior, their arms outstretched for that last contact between their hands. They both pulled away, Junior bowing and Glynda curtsying before they walked off the wooden dance floor to applause and in Yang's case, wolf whistling. With the ice broken so spectacularly, the dance began in earnest.

 

Jaune had been dreading this moment. Ren had understood when he said he had a problem with the dance, and Nora had at least been quiet, knowing that it wasn't a time for her to interrupt. But as winners of the previous competition (even if only by default) they had a position to uphold. They had worked through it, and it had been Nora who had suggested the idea that became what they practiced. So when Yang announced them as the first team competing, they took the floor with Nora bookended by the two men. When the trumpet of the swing song that was playing started, Nora reached out with her right hand to Ren who took it in his left and pulled her into a simple series of back and forth steps, backs straight and shoes clipping as they stepped. Jaune kept time and moved with them, out of line. When the next round of steps started and Ren stepped off perpendicular to the line of the dance, Nora spun through the gap between Ren and Jaune. And where Ren should have stepped forward again into line, he instead pushed Nora's hand outwards where Jaune took it in his own and took over the lead. They continued in this pattern, each step more complex and yet another excuse to pass Nora back and forth, her heart-embroidered pink dress swaying with every movement. There was general applause when Ren used their height difference to be able to swing her through his legs into Jaune's waiting arms, then Jaune went and topped it by using his greater upper body strength to pick Nora up and twirl her around his shoulder. As soon as Nora's feet were back on the dance floor she launched off and wrapped her arms around Ren's neck as he spun her, her legs swinging out wide. A full turn and she was back on the ground, one hand still holding onto Ren, the other reaching out for Jaune. They finished like that, matching positions to where they started but with Nora's hands binding the three together. Nora led the bow to where the band would have been had the music not been coming from Yang's scroll.

 

When Juniper left the floor, Cardin walked out onto it, his piece of plywood recovered from where it had lain against a wall for the night so far. It slapped onto the floor and Cardin walked away from it, leaving the limelight to Russel. Russel had gone all out for the night, his usual ratty vest replaced by an elegant rounded lapel vest in a green geometric pattern over the Beacon standard uniform shirt. His hair had been done as well, the mohawk newly spiked and dyed, even to the point of having glitter threaded through it to make it shine in the lights. He stood in the centre of the board and nodded to Yang. Those who knew Russel were not surprised by the gangster rap track that started to play but everyone that was not in Cardinal was surprised when he flexed his knees a few times with the beat and then dropped, his body spinning around one foot before transferring to the opposite hand and continuing the spin. He kept this going until the first chorus, his body always in motion matching speed with the beat as he traded off which limb was pressed against the ground and his centre rose and fell, appearing to kiss the ground but never quite getting there before he pushed himself back up. With the chorus he ended in a full split, feet hanging over either side of the board he had so far kept himself confined to.

He raised both hands as if asking for applause, but they closed around the handles of his daggers that Cardin had just thrown to him. The daggers stabbed down at the start of the second verse and he rolled himself forward until he was upside down, with just the hands around the hilts holding his weight. Then he did the whole thing again with hands full of sharpened steel. A bare hand touched the ground, then there was a thunk of a dagger landing between spread fingers and the hand moved, pushing him into another rotation. He ended with both daggers again driven into the board, his full weight upon them in a textbook headstand and his toes pointed towards the ceiling. The song sounded it's last notes and Russel fell back to his feet to general applause. Melinda and Militia collected him, propping him up as they moved him to the refreshments table.

 

When they were called, Brimstone formed a line across the floor, over a pace separating each member with Mullyangah at the head. Mully counted them in with the distorted guitar plucking that started the song. When the harmonica and drumbeat joined in each member moved, the decorative boots stamping in perfect time. Back three paces, then forward. Right three paces, feet crossing behind on the middle step, then left to return. Through every step, they kept the line and the spacing intact. A set of four movements and then each right foot came down hard, left feet swinging behind and up before bouncing of the left hand, a quarter turn on the right toes, left boot slapping against the right hand to stop and swinging back down to scrape across the ground and restart the pattern, this time with every member facing Mully. Another set of four and the line turned again, each turn from the same place on the floor no matter how the steps took them away from it. When the fourth turn left them facing the front of the hall as they had been as they started, each took a step inwards, barely a hand's breadth separating each Warboy. Then they did it again, feet just missing each other as they stepped and turned. A full round of four turns and they separated again, facing forward and bowing to the front of the hall.

 

Last spot of the night simply had 'Blake' written on it. When Weiss had asked, Yang had told her it was a surprise, but it probably had something to do with the layered gold and white skirt that Yang had with her dress. It definitely had something to do with the sharply cut open jacket that Blake was wearing as she strode into the centre of the room, black with white sequinned patterns on it and matching black pants with hard white stripes down the sides. She clapped her hands once from her spot, and beckoned Yang with a finger.

Yang took her time matching Blake's position, using the time to flaunt the skirt and it's ruffles. Blake appeared unmoved till they stood across from each other, Blake bowing and Yang curtsying as a fast moving 2-3 beat started, the distinctive Menagaire sounds letting everybody know who's dance this was. Yang moved first, spinning to flare the skirt and breaking left to move around where Blake stood. Blake was half a beat behind, spinning as well so the jacket flashed in the directed lighting as she got an arm in front of Yang's movement. Yang broke the other way but Blake was there again, blocking her movement. This continued with Yang advancing and retreating and Blake boxing her in. Each movement left less room between the two, Blake's hands coming closer to touching Yang and Yang's skirts starting to sweep against Blake's legs with her spins. The crescendo of the music came with the first time Blake managed to catch Yang and the last movements ended with Yang's back to Blake's front, Blake's arms crossed over Yang's chest to pin the two together. Blake unlaced her arms and stepped back, and the finished as they started, this time with Yang bowing and Blake curtsying.

 

With the last dance finished, the floor was opened again to all the couples while Ruby, Weiss and Headmistress Goodwitch convened to judge the competition. The politeness of the argument concealed the strength of the disagreement between the three. Claims of bias and favouritism resulted in Professor Port, Doctor Oobleck and Hei Xong being dragged into the judging. With no easy decision in sight, Oobleck brought up a paired decision tree app on his scroll, filled in the competitors and passed it around the circle so each could vote. The final result was close, but there was a winner. At the end of the penultimate song Weiss paused the music playback and took the microphone to announce them. There was polite applause at the announcement, and some impolite wolf whistling and declarations of love (or at least lust) from the less restrained of the guests. Once the noise had died away Weiss brought the house lights up and let the last slow song play as the students and guests began to filter out of the hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who won? You decide. Seriously, I know what all the dances are supposed to look like but I can't work out who would be the better dancers or which of the styles would have the biggest impact on the judges. It also has no future impact on the story so you can say whoever you want won and you won't be wrong. That said if there's a general agreement I'll edit the chapter to reveal the winner.
> 
> The other thing I have to raise here is the Warboys do not have a good relationship with loss and death. They're more numb to it because of how often they see it and their own lack of worth then able to deal with it in a mature fashion. Also, they don't live long enough for mental health to be a serious issue.
> 
> Language Lessons:
> 
> The RSL is the Returned Services League, one of Australia's veteran affairs groups. It's dropping in importance because there's a lot less veterans then there used to be. They do usually own halls in small towns (and larger ones) and are one of the bastions of the social life in country areas along with the Country Women's Association.
> 
> "Pull up a stump" is a bushman's expression meaning to sit down. One of the most sensible things in the vernacular, it comes from sitting around a fire where the only thing to sit on would have been stumps.
> 
> Nutbush City Limits is a famous song and accompanying line dance. It's probably the simplest line dance in existence and most people will have learned it in high school or at later parties. The dance that Brimstone does here is not the Nutbush, it's significantly more complicated.
> 
> Squizz I've referred to before in the notes on "The Spoils of Warboys". It means to have a look.
> 
> And so much dancing. So, Glynda and Junior waltz which is the easy one. JNR does a swing dance, moving into the higher energy early rock and roll dancing. And turning a partner dance into a three-way would be a nightmare to choreograph. I'm glad I don't have to actually do that. Russel can break dance, which I think suits him pretty well. The knives take it into huntsman territory and make sense, seeing as the dance moves are meant to be a threat display (why people dance is fascinating). As specified before, Brimstone have a line dance. It's nothing that special. But Blake and Yang? They are doing a Spanish dance known as a Paso Double. It's meant to imitate the movements of a matador and bull with the male taking the role of the matador. It's the final dance in the classic Australian movie Strictly Ballroom (which is where I stole the chapter title). And I had to do it because it's gloriously inappropriate. There's the whole "faunus dancing like animals" thing at the start, the personality comparison (Yang charging into trouble, Blake more restrained), the reference to Adam, messing with the gender roles of the dance. If I spent more time on it I'm sure I could work Blake's semblance into the dance as well.


	15. Road Out Of Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting this one in half because it's going to be stupidly long and there's a good point for the split. It turns out that I can talk about my job for far longer then I expected.
> 
> For the 4 people following this as I publish it, the reason this says updated but same number of chapters is because I just stuck nearly another 3,000 words on it. Late Christmas present.

Junior's club had a “Closed for Repairs” sign on the front door, but a Goon opened the back door for Bent when he knocked and the rest of the group followed him in. Junior himself was looking over the efforts to identify all the damage from the failed raid two nights before. He turned at the distinctive sound of hobnails on the loading dock concrete.

“And at last you get here. As you can see, most of the fighting ended up in here.”

“What actually happened?” asked Bent as he swept his eyes over the room. Bullet holes and scorch marks showed where weaponry had been aimed. Interior stud walls had holes straight through them that were big enough to have been bodies in some cases. Cartoons that had held beer were smashed and even though the glass and spills had been cleaned there were still discoloured patches on the concrete where the liquid had sat. There were two other stained patches that could have been red wine, but probably weren't.

“That scroll was a trap. Something on it gave them access and let them bypass the door locks, which is how they got in. It started with a shootout in here which alerted the Malachite twins looking after the front bar. The visitors didn't have anybody with an active aura and started losing badly when the Malachites opened up on them. When that happened they pulled out, managed to take all their people with them.”

“The bloodstains. Yours or theirs?”

“Both. The one of mine that took a dust round will survive, but I'm going to have a Grimm of a time explaining to OH&S how a workplace accident caused the injury.”

“Do you need us for anything?”

“Not now. There's not going to be another attack on me after this one went badly, and there wasn't anyone left behind to question. Considering where that scroll came from there's someone I can lean on to get some answers but that's going to take some time to track her down.”

“Right then. You know how to get hold of us when you do need us. Although we'll probably be out of town for the rest of the week with missions for Beacon.”

Junior just waved them off, already turning to a Goon and discussing replacements for stock that had been lost.

 

The day after the dance was the start of another week off, and the Headmistress had already been looking sideways at Brimstone for their lack of travel recently. They stood around the screen in the Beacon offices debating the merits of various destinations half-heartedly when Bent's Beacon issued scroll chimed.

“Letterhead on a scroll message?” Bent asked of the air as he read through it. “And who the hell is the Ordnance Survey?”

“Ordinance Survey? Like counting all the ammo?” suggested Tarmac.

“No, O, R, D, N, A, N, C, E. Anyway, apparently we are 'Cordially Invited' to a meeting with them this morning. There's an address on the letterhead.”

“Do we have anything better to do?” asked Mullyangah.

Bent took another look at the screen, slim pickings now that the Grimm were in a retreat across most of Remnant.

“Nope. Let's go see what they want.”

 

The Ordnance Survey building was typical Vale government building, in the classic style of “concrete bunker”. Unadorned stacked sloping precast panels making up the exterior with regular small openings for windows. Bent introduced the team at reception on the ground floor and showed the message on his scroll, then they were directed upstairs to another lobby room. Russell waved as they walked in.

“Hey, Brimstone!”

“Cardinal?”

Cardin stood up and took a few steps so that he was face to face with Bent. Or face to chin in Bent's case, as Cardin was nearly a head taller then the Warboy.

“What are you doing here?” Cardin almost growled the question.

“We were invited. How about you?” replied Bent.

The door to the office they were all outside of interrupted the conversation by opening. Out of it strode an aging man who was dressed in a brightly coloured, long sleeved red shirt and simple black pants.

“You were all invited.” he stated, and Cardin and Bent immediately took a half step away from each other now that the argument was ended. “And now that you're all here, we can move on to why. Come inside.”

Inside was a simple conference room. Real wooden table, unadorned walls, power points and an overhead projector. The chairs were that perfect government blend of looking boring and feeling far less comfortable then they had any right to. Of all the people in the room, only the one that wasn't a huntsman kept standing. Cardinal took the seats furthest away from the projector screen and Brimstone scattered themselves among the remaining seats, avoiding both Cardinal and the as yet unknown team that were dressed in matching bright long sleeve shirts in different colours. The thirteenth man was dressed in a conservative dark grey suit that gently reminded everyone that this was a government bureaucrat and nothing he did would ever result in him losing his job. He opened his mouth and the Beacon students discovered that whatever he was hired for, diction wasn't it.

“Thank you all for coming and agreeing to be part of this undertaking. For the first time since Mountain Glenn Vale is pushing outwards the borders of civilisation and the Ordnance Survey is at the forefront of the work. You have all been chosen to act in the defence of the Ordnance Survey remote area surveyors while they extend the Valean Trigonometric Network.”

The monotone and long meaningless words pushed hard against Critty's eyelids. The uncomfortable seat pushed hard against his buttocks. So far the seat was winning but further conflict would probably go in favour of sleep. Then a map was shown on the projector screen and Critty heard words that made sense.

“... expedition will travel by truck to this valley and set up a staging camp at this clearing identified by aerial photography. From there small parties will travel to the hills shown and establish control monuments on top of them and clear lines of sight to the other chosen sites. As these monuments are established the surveyors will be flown in to measure between them. A secondary task will be co-ordinating aerial photo control points to allow for the production of ortho-photography...”

And Critty was drifting back to sleep.

“... are there any questions?”

Critty wanted to ask if anyone had heard him start snoring, but Bent and Cardin had other plans and much more relevant questions.

“What Grimm have been sighted in the area?” started Cardin with the obvious question. It was answered by the older huntsman in the yellow shirt.

“None. Settlements near this area have reported no Grimm attacks in the last fortnight and the flyovers for these images did not find any.”

“Transport?” ask Bent.

“Trucks and some four wheel drives for the camp, and we have access to three bullheads. The bullheads can't land the heavy equipment for monuments and land clearing so will be used sparingly.” was the reply from the government employee.

“How are we dividing team roles?” asked Cardin.

“Cardinal will have one of the Bullheads, either responding to problems or travelling with the surveyors. Brimstone will be using their own vehicle and will be responsible for defence of the labourers and path finding. We will be defending the camp and supporting either other team if they encounter Grimm.” was the answer from the yellow shirted huntsman.

“New question. Who are you?” asked Bent.

“We are Team Wiggle. I'm Greg, this is Jeff, Murry and Anthony.” the now identified Greg said as he pointed to the purple, red and blue shirts in turn.

Bent looked at Cardin. Cardin looked back and nodded. They both turned to the bureaucrat.

“Pay.” they said simultaneously.

Sky and Tarmac took over the negotiations at this point, numbers being thrown around and words like “fiscal limits” and “remuneration” being wielded like weapons. The final agreement was for a per day payment per person, with ammunition covered. Nearly half an hour later both Brimstone and Cardinal wandered out of the building with copies of the contract on their scrolls.

“Alright, first thing we do is siphon Susan's tank into Mithralius.” stated Tarmac.

“Are you sure you got that the right way round? Don't we need a full tank in Susan if we're taking her out?” asked Bent.

“Yes, we do. But back when we first started here Susan was registered as a Huntsman's weapon. I'm going to be claiming that all the fuel in that tank is ammunition and making them pay for it.”

 

The convoy was ready to roll out of the Vale gate on the second day after the meeting. There hadn't been a big deal made of it and the purpose wasn't one to bring a great deal of media attention, but to those who paid attention anybody leaving the main gate was an event. The seven vehicles and nearly three dozen people standing around them this chilly morning were clearly important. Susan was third in the line, between a pair of heavily modified and armoured trucks that were being used as personnel carriers. Front of the line was a more traditional Vale manufactured 4x4 with the roof stripped off and replaced with a roll cage so that the Red and Blue shirted members of team WGLE could stand in it and have easy access. Bent and Tarmac agreed it was far inferior to the lancer's perches that Susan had. The next two trucks carried supplies and the last vehicle was another open top 4x4 which would hold the other two members of Wiggle once they were underway.

Critty was vibrating in excitement from the front passenger seat of Susan. Bent was looking on and shaking his head in disappointment. It was Mullyangah who came to bat for him.

“You can't be upset at the kid. He wasn't allowed out of the Spire much and when we left was the first time he got to ride with a Convoy.”

Critty was too excited to challenge the reference to his age.

“Bent, new guy.” said Mully, nodding his head towards a civilian standing near them and looking on in awe. He looked too old to be part of an expedition beyond the safe walls of the city and had a pair of hard cases with him that looked heavy from the way he carried them.

“Are you team Brimstone?” he asked as Bent turned to look at him.

“Yep.” replied Critty. “The guy on the front is Legate Bruce, I'm Mr Bruce, this is Mr Bruce, and the black guy on the back is Mr Bruce.”

“Oh. I'm Thistledown Thompson, I'm handling communications for you.”

“Your name's not Bruce?” asked Critty.

“No, it's Thompson.”

“That's gonna cause some confusion. Do you mind if we just call you Bruce?”

Thompson shook his head, as if the way he was being treated was something clinging to him that could be shaken off.

“I just need to mount the radio somewhere on your vehicle and get the aerial up so that we can have communications between you and everybody else. I'll ride with you as well so that there's somebody to handle the radio.”

“So are you going to need access under the bonnet?” asked Tarmac.

“I will for the power feed, the radio unit will go in the cab somewhere and the aerial can be bolted to the racks.”

“Critty, get in the back, let New Bruce have front offside seat.” said Tarmac with a thumb over his shoulder. “New Bruce, you can hook into the power cable I set up for the stereo, there's a block of fuses under the dash on my side that it can go straight into.”

Resigned to his new name, New Bruce opened the cases he had with him and started handing gear out to the Warboys to hold.

 

The Yellow Wiggle made a last pass on foot up the convoy, questioning each driver as he passed. With an affirmative response from all of them, he stopped and talked to the member of Vale's Militia that was standing at attention next to the main gate. That soldier made some comments into the radio attached to his uniform and a grinding and clanking noise started. The majority of Vale's imports and exports were handled by sea and sky, so this old and massive gate across the roadway had never been important enough to upgrade. The motors currently dragging the gate up and out of the way had not been replaced in the lifetime of anybody standing to watch.

As soon as the gate was high enough that they would fit under, the first 4x4 was moving. Militia members and a garish set of clothes that had to belong to a Huntress watched it go as the gate kept grinding open until the trucks would fit under. Susan shuddered as Tarmac fired up the engine. New Bruce grabbed at the roll-cage in the cab, but Bent and Mullyangah rode out the early vibrations with long practice. They followed the first truck out and Mully raised a spear in salute to the Huntress on the wall once they had passed under the gate.

The convoy moved faster then the Warboys were used to, as Vale's stores of Dust were much deeper then the Spire's and didn't need to be conserved as strictly. This passage was the primary route out of the city of Vale because the mountains on this side dropped into rolling hills quicker. The route passed into the heavily fortified farmland that was Vale's foodbasket. Above ground silos and barns appeared on the horizon as the group moved, the houses dug into the ground and built to survive direct assault. Windows were a luxury that came with living in a city behind a wall. Not that the livestock cared, the Grimm only targeted humans and faunus. Why was a debate that hadn't yet been answered.

The first of the sets of silos passed, and Mully and Critty started a rapid discussion over what was stored in it and how it would be transported to the city. It had to be shouted to be heard over the wind and the engine noises so New Bruce joined in and explained the near automated system for loading grain trucks. But there were still people involved, and people outside the walls meant Huntsmen needed to be there. Bent made a note to look into the contract and see how easy a job it would be.

It was a long and boring drive after that. Areas this close to the city would have seen some Grimm prowling around, drawn by the collective humanity that had disappeared over the horizon behind them, but there was nothing to see. New Bruce ran through a round of testing the radio gear, contacting people in other vehicles in the convoy. Bent called from the front when the horizon grew fuzzy, trees beginning to break what had previously been a hard line between sky and soil. Some more traffic over the radio, and New Bruce let them know that they were making better time then expected. There was a site another hour's travel inside the treeline that was planned for the first night's stop before the half day's travel on to the staging site. Bent waved Mully into the cab and Critty took the place on the back lancer's perch as Mully rammed earplugs home and stretched out as best he could across the back bench seat. He was snoring before the trees were close enough to pick out the individual trunks.

 

Camp was a simple affair. The larger trucks were parked in a square in a clearing that had been used for exactly this several times before. The purple and blue members of team Wiggle were trimming the vegetation nearby with their weapons to keep the sightlines open. Both wielded strange swords, one that seemed to have an edge made from shards of glass, the other with a row of large teeth. The civilians set up tents and lighting in the square formed by the trucks. Susan was parked outside, Tarmac refuelling her while Bent claimed space for swags. Mullyangah was still asleep on the back seat and wouldn't be woken till it was time for his watch. As soon as Tarmac had the Dust tanks full, he climbed in an reclined the driver's seat as far as it would go, falling asleep under his oilskin coat as the sun was still setting. Bent and Critty went to make themselves known around the camp while there was still some light and Wiggle were all still awake.

They found themselves around a modern version of a campfire, red Dust powering a heater on a tall stand so the heat radiated down from above and talking to Greg as well as two of the civilians who seemed to be in charge.

“Good of you to join us. Khaki, Pitch; This it Bent and Critty from team Brimstone. They're helping with the defence of the expedition.” The yellow shirted WGLE member, Greg, made the introductions.

“That's our job.” replied Bent.

“So you're the group with the heavily modified ute? You seem unusual, even for a Hunter team.” asked Pitch, a brown skinned woman who looked like she shifted concrete for fun and had a face and hands covered in weather damage.

“We're from a fair way away. Beacon has an exchange program going.”

“Is this similar terrain to what you are used to?” asked Khaki, who was smaller in every way then Pitch, about the same height as the Warboys. He didn't have the muscle to make up for it, but didn't have the belly that came from sitting behind a desk constantly.

“Nah mate. Everything back at home is desert and gibber plains as far as the eye can see.” said Critty.

Khaki looked like that hadn't answered his question at all, but moved on.

“We'll leave you to it then. We'll talk more tomorrow afternoon when we start the work.” Khaki said and then followed Pitch off towards one of the tents.

“Oi, Greg.” Bent called to get his attention. “Why did you choose us to come with you? Must have been somebody better to deal with this.”

“A team with remote area experience, a tracker and their own vehicle that we only had to pay student rates to? Of course we were going to take you. You pair have first watch, wake Jeff and Ant after two hours.”

Greg disappeared into a fancy two person tent set up at one of the corners of the square, where anything trying to get inside would have to come past it. Bent looked around and noted a matching tent at the opposite corner that he assumed would hold the Purple and Blue Huntsmen.

“C'mon Critty. I'll give you a boost up on top of this truck and then I'll take the one on the other side. We'll get the lights pointed outwards as well, make it a bit easier for this lot to sleep.”

“We expecting trouble?”

“Honestly, I'm more worried about somebody waking up and wandering off to take a piss then Grimm coming here. Keep an eye out for both.”

“Yes Legate.” Critty mocked, and then stepped into Bent's joined hands. Bent had a more difficult time, having to climb over the cab to get on top of his vantage point, but once they were up it was easy leaps to move between the trucks and keep watch in all directions. Their watch passed calmly, with barely any noise from the civilians in their tents and even less from the forest around them. Jeff and Ant were exactly where Bent expected them to be, and he climbed into his swag after letting them know where to find Mully and Tarmac.

 

Dawn snuck up over the hills and gently filtered through the trees before a hundred species of birds noticed it and took it as a sign to restart the arguments they had gone to sleep nurturing. A cacophony of squawks and screeches woke the travellers, most of whom had not been outside Vale before. The members of team Wiggle were already up and breaking down the camp. Tarmac had the front lancer's perch of Susan off and the bonnet propped open while he checked fluid levels. Mullyangah was nowhere to be found. Bent tapped Tarmac on the shoulder as he worked.

“You good to drive?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Mully took the watch on his own, let me get another nap in before dawn.”

“You sure that was a good idea?”

“You've worked with Mully long as I have. He could have kept an ear on everything and had time to hunt down something to eat..”

“Any idea where he is?”

“Hopefully getting breakfast.”

Breakfast was bread and jam, with nutritional supplements for the two hunter teams present. The focus that morning was on getting moving as quickly as possible. Mullyangah reappeared from the treeline moments after the first engine fired up.

“You missed breakfast.”

“No I didn't.” Mully replied as he indicated scorch marks and bloodstains on one of his wooden spears.

“Now Mully, we're a team. And that means something. One of those things is that if you've got decent food, YOU SHARE IT WITH THE REST OF US.”

New Bruce flinched, having come into hearing range just as Bent's voice picked up.

“Voice down Bent, you're scaring the new guy.” reminded Tarmac.

“Hey, New Bruce!” said Critty as he tied the last of the swags down.

“I told you, my name is Thistledown.”

“Mate, you don't get to choose your name. It's Bruce now.”

New Bruce just threw his arms up in the air and gave up conversation with Critty as a lost cause. He turned instead to Tarmac who seemed the most sensible of the four.

“Am I still in the same seat?”

“Front offside seat is yours until we're back inside Vale. Best seat in the ute.”

The last signs of the temporary camp disappeared back inside the trucks that had carried it and the convoy started to align itself with the road again. Tarmac watched the first truck that had to reverse and nodded with respect, the driver getting the back of the trailer between two trees on the first try and giving themselves enough room to run straight forward into their place in the line.

“All Aboard!” Tarmac called, and Bent and Mully swung themselves up onto the front and back perches respectively while Critty folded into the back window and pulled out a pair of earplugs for his morning nap. New Bruce calmly opened the passenger door and pulled himself in, straight away turning his gear on and calling in his radio check. The confirmations from the other operators in the convoy came back as Tarmac turned the engine over and slotted Susan into the same place in the convoy they had held yesterday.

The run through the forest was slower then the rolling hills the day before. Shorter lines of sight and less civilisation meant more chances of Grimm sightings and less time to deal with them. Nobody was panicking yet, but there was definitely more attention paid to the terrain then last time. Except by Critty, who snuffled occasionally in his sleep.

“Hey, Mully! How was the wildlife on your watch?” Bent yelled back over the noises of their movement.

“There's not much big stuff around here! Some tracks, plenty of birds!”

“So what was breakfast?”

“Two birds, straight out of the nest.”

There was another change in the tree cover after a few hours of the morning's journey. Trees grew larger and straighter, with bigger leaves that blocked almost all the light from reaching the undergrowth. This made the road they were following a literal path of light carved through nature. Similar to how the leaves above swallowed the light, the closely spaced trunks swallowed noise, leaving only the gentle rumble of engines running well below their limits and a woman's voice.

“Tarmac, _what_ are you listening to now?” called Bent.

“It's Beautiful.”

“I asked what it was, not what you thought of it.”

“Nah, that's what it's called. The band's got two lead singers and they trade off doing completely different sounding songs.”

“You're collecting the weirdest shit out here.”

“Critty doesn't think my choices are weird.” Tarmac defended himself.

“Critty is asleep and drooling on himself again.”

“There's no way you can see that.”

“Am I wrong?”

Tarmac adjusted the rear view mirror to check on the last passenger.

“No.” he admitted.

“Exactly.” Having won the argument, Bent put his attention back to scanning the thin underbrush. Nearly a decade of practice at navigating like this had him lining up features on the horizon those few times it was visible with memories of aerial photographs. A lucky sighting of moving water matched a feeder for the creek they were expecting to camp next for as long as they were working out here.

“We're close. New Bruce, wake Critty.”

New Bruce turned in his seat so he could poke the sleeping Warboy.

“You'll have to hit harder then that.” suggested Tarmac.

New Bruce took a great deal of pleasure in thumping Critty's closest arm as hard as he could. Which was completely spoiled when Critty barely responded, blinking slightly and trying to roll over. Him falling off the bench and crashing into the footwells of the rear seats is what woke him up.

“We're nearly here. Probably half hour and we'll be setting up camp.” Tarmac filled him in.

“You could have let me sleep for another half hour then.”

“Image is everything with these people. If we don't appear to be unstoppable murder machines, they might get worried which would attract Grimm and then _we'd actually have to do some work_.”

“Minimum effort. Got it.”

Words flickered over the radios connecting the convoy as those with responsibilities worked out where they were going to stop and how they were going to set up a camp through the trees. The underbrush was thin enough to not need clearing, but it was going to be luck if they were to find a large enough clearing to have space for everything. However, luck could be stacked in their favour.

As they started up the far side of the current valley, the undergrowth thinned even further and tree trunks started to show fire damage. Within minutes they were in an area stripped bare by the heat of the flames that had not yet begun to regrow. No underbrush, no leaf litter, no tree cover outside of blackened trunks and even those halved by the passage of the fire.

The convoy pulled smoothly off the trail in a plan that had been discussed in detail between bored huntsmen earlier in the trip. The four trucks found what space they could and parked, but nobody emerged as the huntsmen parked up and scattered, running outwards to confirm that the area was as clear as they thought. Within minutes they were satisfied enough, and orders came to pitch camp.

The sun was just past the zenith, but it never held the burn in Vale that the Warboys were used to. The riot of carving a camp out of the forest was barely a warmup for them, even when chainsaw felled trees needed to be carried away. When the centre of their home away from home away from home was clear Bent made the mistake of standing still for a moment to admire it.

“Oh, so the students are tired after a little honest work?” came a booming voice from the blue shirted Wiggle.

Bent just stared at him, head cocked. Anthony closed the distance between them quickly and leaned in.

“Play along. Make a show of it.” he said in a low voice before pulling away again.

“Like you would know about honest work.” Bent slipped straight into the role, ready to give as good as he got.

“If you've got energy to talk, you've got energy to work.”

“I could do both, and fight at the same time.”

“Now I know you're lying, because you can't fight at the best of time.”

“You planning on making a scene old man?” Bent said, rolling his shoulders and flexing in the exact way that showed off his more impressive scars. Their voices had started to gather a crowd from those that were running out of work to do.

“It's your funeral boy.” With those words Anthony rammed his sword in the ground, the white teeth the edge was formed into carving furrows before catching to hold it up.

“Critty, nick back to the ute and grab my stuff” whispered Bent out of the side of his mouth to the nearest Warboy. It wasn't far, but Critty still took off at a sprint and was back with the sword within seconds. Bent took it in his undamaged hand and pointed it's mostly blunt tip at Anthony.

“You call that a sword boy?” Anthony mocked as he drew his blade from the ground again. “This is Dorothy. Her teeth have feasted on more Grimm then you have ever heard of in the decades since I forged her.”

“This is my sword. It was passed to me when the last lancer to use it fell, and has been rebuilt three times since then. I guess that makes it Gamma.”

Now that weapons were drawn, everything else at the campsite had stopped. Mully and Greg looked at each other over the squabbling members of their team. Greg pointedly removed his hand from his weapon and Mully nodded in acknowledgment. Whatever was going on, it wasn't serious. The people around didn't know that, and started to form a loose circle with everybody wanting to see but nobody wanting to get close.

“Should we bet on this?” asked Tarmac.

“I'm pretty sure this is actually just a setup for an exhibition match. There's not going to be a winner.” replied Mullyangah.

The two in the circle continued with some meaningless posturing, but both were watching the crowd around them to make sure of what they had to work with. When Ant judged that the whole expedition was watching he waved at Bent and called him a coward.

Bent smiled evilly, and took the two steps forward he needed to strike. As he did he let the blade go loose in his hand, dragging behind him almost as an afterthought. This meant that when he pulled on it and pivoted at the waist on the second step it fairly leapt from the ground and would have scored a hard line from hip to shoulder across Ant had he not brought Dorothy across to deflect the obvious blow. The blades sparked off each other with a satisfying ring to start the fight.

Ant was immediately on the offensive, getting his second hand onto Dorothy's rounded pommel and using that leverage to flick the toothed blade around faster then should have been possible. Bent kept his blocks tight and close, paying more attention then usual to his wrist work as he kept Gamma from sliding between teeth. They both kept their feet planted, keeping themselves as far away from the civilians as possible. With the speed of his opponent measured, Ant whipped his sword through a one-two combination intended to force a block of the second blow on the far offside. With Bent's sword out of the way he half-stepped and used the hand that had been on the pommel to punch for Bent's face. Bent easily ducked, drawing Gamma out of the block at the same time only to find himself looking at a knee coming for him. He got his hand on the knee and used it to turn both combatants in opposite directions, before throwing himself away from the other huntsman because he knew that he'd just put his undefended side towards him.

Ant's swing was half-hearted, the follow up charge wasn't. He covered the distance in a single step and put that momentum behind an overhand blow at Bent's offside ear. Bent had to bring his sword across his chest and block awkwardly, the force nearly bringing Gamma into contact with his shoulder before he stopped it.

“You've got some skill boy, but a long way to go before you can dream of challenging me.” Ant was playing up for the crowd, most of whom were barely following the fight because of the speed that both combatants could move at. This little pause was as much for them to catch up as it was for gloating.

“Mate, gotta tell you something. _I am not right handed_.” Bent stated.

Nobody lives to be an old huntsman without legendary skill at not dying so as soon as Bent had finished that sentence Ant was already moving, pushing off with his toes and down with Dorothy trying to get over and behind Bent. Bent's knife was moving at the same time, coming out of it's pocket in the armoured pants and rising in a stab that would have gone through the stomach and under the ribcage of somebody standing still. Ant almost got out of the way, but the knife sparked off aura in a line down one calf as he passed overhead. Bent used the force of Ant's blade on his shoulder to push himself into a forward roll, managing to tuck both his blades in and not impale himself before he could stand again. Ant also landed badly and both took the time to reset themselves into proper stances before they came again.

They both started to circle right, moving to get their longer blade onto the other's undefended side when another voice boomed over the whole camp.

“ANTHONY. STAND DOWN.” called Greg.

Anthony looked over at his leader, then pointed Dorothy down and stabbed it into the flame-darkened ground. Bent looked over and at a nod from Mullyangah followed suit. He kept his knife out. Greg walked forward until he stood between the two.

“I'm glad to see Glynda's still teaching them well. Good to see our future in safe hands.”

“You know the Headmistress?” asked Bent, keeping to the same projecting volume that everybody else was using.

“Know her? Who do you think trained her? Let her know that we're impressed when you get back won't you. NOW SHOW IS OVER EVERYONE, BACK TO WORK. And you two, if you've got energy to play like this you can spend it on watch.”

Ant and Bent both nodded and recollected their weapons, turning back to their own teams.

“How'd we do?” Bent asked when he got close to Mullyangah and Tarmac.

“I think it worked. I heard some concern at the beginning, but by the time you pulled that knife most of them were enjoying the show.” replied Tarmac.

“What did you think?”

“He's good. Clean, smooth. No wasted effort. He fights like someone who's been doing this for a long, long time.” replied Mully. “That knife trick was the only time you were going to get one over him.”

“Alright, let's get our section set up. Apparently I've got first watch, but I want you on last watch again Mully. See if you can get in a loop around the camp for a bit of forward scouting.”

 

Mullyangah liked this pre-dawn darkness out in the wilderness. The silence and solitude felt like home, even if the terrain here was far different from what surrounded the Spire. The stars had betrayed him is well, the patterns he was so used to working with gone or changed by the distance he had traveled. He was sharing the watch with the red shirted Wiggle, but they were not anywhere near each other. Murry was wandering through the camp itself while Mullyangah was standing far enough away so that the lights faded and he could watch the stars. He watched the trees too, eyes flicking over movement in the faded black and white that was all he could see in the moonlight.

The fire damage that made this area useful as a campsite had also driven away all the wildlife. With no cover and no greenery to eat, there was nothing to draw them in. Mully started a sweep at the edge of the burn, watching the way the fire had given up when faced with a downhill slope and greener vegetation. If he was not expected to keep watch, he would have slipped into that vegetation and gone looking for the life in the forest that the fire hadn't touched.

Then a few more steps revealed marks in the ash. Prints from a dog, where the dog had stepped just out of the vegetation, sat on it's haunches facing the camp, then turned away again. But no natural dog had paws as big as Mully's hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're into stuff that I know lots and lots about. I've been a surveyor for 13 years now, and this is a thing I would love to do. Seriously, if they were setting up a trigonometric network now I wouldn't even ask for money to be part of it. So, um, things are going to get kind of dense coming up. I'll skip all the maths but do call me on anything you don't understand.
> 
> Language Lessons:  
> OH&S is Occupational Health and Safety. I think it's actually Workplace Health and Safety now, but they're the group that investigates injuries at work and puts out all the industry standards that have to be followed to ensure that people don't die doing their jobs. It's a thankless job when it gets to the really dangerous industries.
> 
> Ordnance Survey is not an Australian reference, it's actually the United Kingdom's survey organisation. Australia doesn't have a comparable government group, rather it has almost all surveyors working privately with a small number of government employees working on error-checking and writing standards.
> 
> The Wiggles: When I was first putting this together and was thinking about teams of four and people named for colours, The Wiggles had to make an appearance. They're a children's educational entertainment group that for four years running were Australia's most profitable music group. Then they were beaten by AC/DC one year and then the magazine that used to publish the listings went bust and nobody knows who's on top any more.
> 
> A Swag is a bedroll. Usually has a thick canvas bag that's mostly waterproof with a foam mat and blankets inside. Good ones can be lived out of and people (including me) do on remote trips.
> 
> A Gibber Plain is a type of desert that's fairly unique to central Australia. I've mentioned it before, but I don't think I explained it. Anyway, it's a layer of what looks like river stones over clay and dust. They form in areas that are flat but really old. Sand and dust blows off the top leaving the rocks behind, and the rocks form a protective layer over the clay and more dust below.
> 
> Tarmac's got Spiderbait's self-titled album in for this trip. If bands had mental illnesses, Spiderbait would be bipolar with their two lead singers and such a large range between them. They'll be back for the next chapter.


	16. Professional Networking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got distracted and wrote 24 thou words of smut instead of finishing this. Have a 6 thou word apology. And go read the smut, it's pretty good.

Dawn the next morning was a slower start, with the leaders of both teams of hunters in a meeting with Khaki and Pitch. Over the table in front of them was a rough map of the area made from composite high-altitude photography printed onto linen. Khaki was using a bright orange marker to draw in proposed travel routes to the peaks they would have to visit in the next few days.

“We're starting with these two sites closest to the city itself today, then working our way outwards. With Wiggle covering one crew and Brimstone covering the other we will be able to get two sites done a day until the last couple which may be too far to travel. I've already put those down as maybes on the paperwork, so if it's too dangerous we'll just leave them off and extend the network next time.”

“Mully's seen some things he's concerned about. He wants to double the watch.” said Bent.

“Grimm aren't that smart. If there was anything that could get close to the camp now they would have already attacked us.” Greg was outright dismissive of the Warboys.

“I've been with him for most of my life. He knows his work.”

“I don't think your team _combined_ has been fighting Grimm for as long as I have.”

“No fighting.” Pitch cut in over the top of both Huntsmen. “We're sticking with the watch rotation that was determined at the beginning.”

“And we've got to get started if we're going to get a pair of stations set up today.” said Khaki, pointing again to the two starting sites.

Bent rejoined the rest of Brimstone where some of the labourers were loading their own ute and Susan with equipment. Critty was standing in the back of Susan helping to stack it all. The other ute held bags of cement and aggregate with tools piled on top while Susan had a stack of pre-made steel parts including two black painted steel discs that were larger then Critty's armspan in diameter.

“You got enough stuff in the back there?” Bent asked as he swung himself up onto the front Lancer's perch.

“Nah mate, I'm sure I could fit a kitchen sink in here somewhere.” was Critty's reply.

“We know where we're going?” asked Tarmac.

Bent pointed to a hill back the way they had came. “Top of that thing.”

Critty hauled on the ratchet strap he was using to hold the load down. It started to hum in the wind. He tightened it two more clicks and then plucked it.

“Yeah, that's got the tension right.” Critty went to open the offside door, but Bent pointed him at the back Lancer's perch.

“New Bruce has the inside. You're riding on the back, Mully's with that lot.”

Mullyangah just nodded and climbed into the tray of the other ute. It took some time for him to get comfortable on top of the load, but he found a spot and signed to Bent that he was good.

“Tarmac, let's go. We've got to be done and back before dark.”

Tarmac shifted Susan into four wheel drive and pulsed the revs in acknowledgment.

 

Navigating the thin woods on the Valean hillsides was very different to the open deserts of home. It had taken them far longer then expected to pick a route through the stands of trees and cut down the occasional one that needed to go to make way for them. The sun was well past the zenith when Susan skidded to a halt on top of the hill. The other ute pulled up next to them with significantly less flair. Mullyangah eyed Bent, who waved vaguely and then watched as Mully leapt from his perch and blended into the trees. Critty swung down gently and started to unload gear.

Within half an hour, the labourers had a frame unfolded and used it to mark four points on the ground. The centre point had been picked by having the Leading Hand stand right on the highest point of the hill and see if there was anywhere with better lines of sight. There wasn't, so now there was a spray paint mark on the rock that was the crest of the hill. The simple metal frame allowed the points for the legs of the tripod that would hold the steel discs to be marked out. When those were marked, the frame was refolded and the noise started.

With a Dust-powered pneumatic hammer in the background conversation became impossible, as did any attempt to hear approaching Grimm. Bent and Tarmac took opposite sides and walked a simple loop, relying on the idea that one of them would be between anything coming and the workers. Critty helped in the middle, being far too fond of tools, loud noises and tools that made loud noises to stay away.

When four holes were cut into the rock, and two more were placed where ever it was easy to put them, the frame was unfolded again and slots in it were loaded with bolts before concrete was mixed and poured into the holes. The frame held the bolts out of the concrete as it started to set and the crew got on with the really important part of the day. Cooking lunch over the open fire they had made from all the vegetation that had needed to be cut down. Mully appeared as if summoned by the smell of food and the Warboys ate in shifts, always with at least two with hands on weapons at any time. Mullyangah pointed out a similar plume of smoke on a nearby hill, showing where the other crew was at work.

“So, do you lot get out of the city often?” was Bent's opening attempt to get to know the people he was protecting better. It was met with outright laughter.

“You come down in the last shower? Nobody leaves Vale if they can avoid it.” said the Leading Hand for the labourers.

“Hey, Mully, when was the last time it rained at the Spire?” asked Bent.

“Before either of us was born.” came the reply.

“I thought you were just weird like all the other Huntsmen, but your team really isn't from around here, is it?” asked the Leading Hand.

“We're from a long way south. Got an offer we couldn't refuse to move.”

“Lots more lien in Vale?”

“No, we were told we couldn't refuse.” clarified Bent.

“Do you miss home?” one of the other labourers asked.

Bent and Mully looked at each other from where they were sitting next to the fire. It wasn't a question they'd let themselves ask.

“It's not all bad.” began Bent. “I haven't watched a person I know die since I came to Vale, which is the longest since I was big enough to be allowed out of the Spire.”

“But there's things that are not the same.” continued Mully. “This trip is the first time for months that I've been able to look up at the sky properly and it's not the same sky. All the patterns that I used to guide me, both up there and down here, just aren't there any more.”

“The food's better here. More variety.” said Bent.

“If you think the food on this trip is good, I don't want to try your local cooking.” said one of the labourers and the group backed away from the topic.

When the food was gone and the concrete was set, the metal sections were recovered from the back of Susan and erected across the bolts. Putting the frame together didn't take long, what did take time was plumbing the frame so that the centre of it was directly above the stamped brass plaque that had been concreted in.

“So, how many of these do we have to put up?” asked Tarmac as the group admired their handiwork.

“About twenty. Most will be harder to get to then this one was.” said the Leading Hand

“Well, this is going to take forever.” said Critty.

“I should hope it takes forever. We're being paid by the day here.” replied Tarmac.

“Yeah, and we're done for this day. Pack it up and get back on the road.” said Bent, raising his voice so that everybody could hear the second sentence.

 

At camp that evening, as the sun dropped behind the hills that they had just been on top of, Bent and Mullyangah talked with low voices and heads pushed together.

“Have you seen anything else you're worried about?” asked Bent.

“Not yet, but I'd expect anything to be near the camp here rather then following us around.”

“Wiggle doesn't trust you, but I do. I'll take your spot in the watch, you do what you have to to find out how bad things are.”

Mullyangah dropped the bowl that held the last of his evening meal, and disappeared into the treeline. Bent collected both bowls and started cleaning up, both of them preparing in their own way for a sleepless night.

 

Mullyangah didn't find anything that night, and he and Bent traded off naps across the back seat of Susan while the next trig station and associated monuments were set up. Tarmac and Critty did a masterful job of convincing everybody that this was fine, and the two best fighters on the team were not driving themselves to exhaustion over a fear that the monsters in the night were not as far away as everybody else believed.

Lunch revived both of the sleepers, and Mully disappeared into the treeline again to run another quick circuit. He avoided the sheer cliffs on the northern edge of the hill that they were currently working on, instead heading for the thin stream that they had crossed at the base of the hill. The vegetation there was thicker and the soil softer. It was easier for things to hide, but also easier for them to leave tracks.

The decision paid off. There were the usual bird footprints, some larger hoof marks from what were probably wild deer who had come to drink, and a pair of dog prints that would have fitted Mully's bare foot inside them. They pointed away from the hill where the rest of the team was working and there were no further signs of the Grimm, so Mullyangah moved off to try and find the deer in the hope of adding something new and interesting to the rations they were getting.

 

No Grimm, and no deer. Not for the last two days and Mullyangah was starting to doubt his own tracking skills. The sleep schedule wasn't helping either with most of his days and nights spent as far away from the camps as he could get on foot. Today however brought a change in the routine.

The trio of Bullheads touched down in a specifically cleared area near the main campsite, and Dove and Sky were the first off with weapons out. Greg and Jeff were there to meet them, the standard full combat ready display of two teams of hunters showing off for the populace. Cardin stepped out from the second Bullhead with an easy lope and his mace still clipped to his belt. Russel was a pace behind and to his left to cover his weaker side.

Cardin shook Greg's hand when they were close enough, then allowed the surveyors to come out of their transport. Now the time limit became real, as monuments had to be prepared fast enough to keep in front of the survey team trying to link them. As soon as he had the chance with Greg, Cardin and Bent being dragged off for another leader's meeting Mully grabbed Dove and Sky and explained his concerns.

“We're being watched. I keep finding Beowolf tracks that are at most a few days old, but no wolves.”

“Really old Grimm might be smart enough not to attack, but Beowolves don't get that old” said Sky.

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” asked Mully.

“It's not our lives, it's _their_ lives.” said Dove, gesturing to the camp of labourers and surveyors and support staff. “We'll keep an extra watch, and you know we're good at that.”

“Good. Can you start tonight? I'm dead on my feet.”

 

That next morning was the first since their arrival that Mullyangah didn't watch the dawn. Critty instead woke him by prodding his foot in the swag and handing over a bowl of the thin vegetable stew that they were being told was breakfast. Critty wasn't convinced it counted as food. He was pretty sure that there were more calories in the way that Ruby took her coffee.

Critty went through the pre-start checklist for Susan, chocking the wheels and burying himself under the vehicle. He looked over the reinforced undercarriage, holding the design in his mind and comparing it to what he saw. He checked tension on bolts and gently fingered scratches that were starting to change from fresh steel to reds and oranges. Things rusted much faster in Vale then they did at home, and he would have to look up better protective coatings. Satisfied that the undercarriage wasn't going to fall apart on them today, he moved on to collection of spikes and bars that formed the roll-cage and Grimm bar. Tarmac hadn't hit anything with it yet, so it was still straight-ish and the welds holding it into a single piece were still clean and uncracked.

Structure checked, he moved on to quality of life. The seatbelts all worked, he topped up the Dust tank from the stores that had been brought in and then he grabbed the now upright Mullyangah to help him get the front lancer's perch off and the bonnet open. Mully wasn't interested in machines like most of the Warboys, but still knew enough to hold everything open and hand Critty the right tools as he checked fluid levels and connections. With the Sun just starting to peak above the mountains around the city of Vale Critty declared Susan to be fit for use. Bent left to find their crew while Tarmac fired up the engine and pulled up next to the storage truck to make loading the next trig station easier.

They left in higher spirits then earlier trips, a full night's sleep helping both Bent and Mullyangah recover. Their target today was past one of the hills they had already visited so there was barely any trail cutting to do. So when Mully cried “Deer!” and jumped from the back perch with weapons in hand Bent was happy to let him go.

The morning proceeded like the three before it, with power tools and habitat destruction. Critty was standing on the front lancer's perch and looking out over the hills, trying to spot the markers they had already erected when Mullyangah raced into view between the trees.

“Bent, we got trouble!” Critty called as Mully grabbed onto the Grimm bar and pulled in deep breaths. He'd dropped Wokali to have a free hand, and there were no longer any spears clipped to the back of it.

“Beowolves. Two. Following our trail. Parallel to the track. Could be more.” Mully forced out between breaths.

Critty threw a new pair of spears down to him from the stack on the lancer's perch, then flicked open his own blades. Bent had his sword up already and Tarmac started to swing Daramulun to make sure it was free.

“Mayday, mayday mayday. This is VH1KNV calling mayday, mayday mayday.”

New Bruce had the radio in hand before the call was finished and spoke as soon as the crackle cut out.

“VH1KNV, this is VH1NAD mobile receiving.”

“VH1NAD, Grimm have been sighted near the main camp. Number currently unknown, more then twenty, 2 0. Currently only Anthony and Murry in...”

The absolute calm in the voice over the radio was scarier then any panic could be. It was the voice of a person who had given up. New Bruce spoke up again in the silence.

“VH1KNV, say again... VH1KNV?”

The silence held for another few seconds.

Bent grabbed the belt at the front of Critty's trousers and threw him off the ute towards the labourers.

“Protect them. Mully, you're with Critty. If you don't hear from us by nightfall run for Vale. If we're not dead we'll see you there.”

Bent swung himself up onto the front lancer's perch as soon as he was finished talking.

“Tarmac! Fang it!”

Tarmac had his foot on the clutch and the gearstick moving even before the door closed behind him. New Bruce clung to the interior rollcage and his radio mike as the ute moved with a speed he hadn't realised it was capable of.

 

Forest debris spun out from under the wheels as Tarmac swerved Susan through a set of trees that hadn't been worth taking out to make the track. At the slowest point when he was lining up Susan with the next straight, a Beowolf sprung out from behind one of the trees and managed to get it's head in through the onside window and around Tarmac's arm.

Tarmac's knee came up, pinning the steering wheel in place as he wrestled with the Beowolf that was trying to chew through his chain-wrapped forearm. The hand that had been on the gearstick fell to between his legs and started rooting around under the seat. He tried to keep his eyes forward even as he had to lean forward to get his hand far enough under the seat. His hand seized around what he was looking for and then he straightened up to draw it out from under the seat.

The sawn-off under-over shotgun in his off hand was pressed into the eye slit of the Beowolf's bone mask and boomed unnaturally loudly in the confined space of Susan. The recoil brought the second barrel up to the same gap in the mask and Tarmac pulled the second trigger, the noise driving thought away. The first round had killed the Grimm, the second opened the back of it's head and broke the muscles holding it's jaw around Tarmac's arm. Without that hold, the Grimm fell away, it's corpse starting to dissolve as it rolled.

“Don't go panicking on me yet New Bruce, things are going to get way worse then this.” said Tarmac with a broad grin.

“Why do you have a loaded gun under the driver's seat?” asked New Bruce in a rising squeal

“Because if it was under the passenger seat, I wouldn't be able to reach it.”

Tarmac pushed the weapon towards New Bruce with his off hand.

“Now reload it. Shells are in the box in front of you. It splits open, there's a catch just by your thumb there. No, the shells go the other way round. Brass towards you, plastic towards Grimm.”

New Bruce had the first shell in when another Beowolf came out of the foliage in front and jumped for Bent. Bent got a spear under it and it's own weight impaled it, but a trailing back claw caught Bent and pulled him from the perch. Tarmac threw the end of Daramulun out the window and behind him.

Bent watched Susan pass under him as he rolled, then spotted the weighted end of the chain come out of the window. He had to fold himself in mid air to get a hand on the chain, and landed badly because of it. He bounced up off the leaf litter, then the chain tried to pull out of his hand. It cut into his Aura as the difference between his inertia and Susan's inertia was transformed into force and pain.. He scraped across the ground, got a foot under him then kicked off, pulling on the chain as he lifted off the ground to get back to Susan. He caught the rear bar of the rollcage with his ribs.

“Is he alright?” asked New Bruce as Susan shook with the impact.

“He'll be fine.” said Tarmac. “Now give me back the gun.”

Another swerve and a spray of rock and water from a creek crossing got them back on to trails that Tarmac had driven several times before.

“Bent, one minute till camp!” he bellowed over the engine noise, holding up a finger through the window. Bent scrambled over the roof to take the front lancer's perch.

“New Bruce, there's a scroll above the ammo box. Set the current album to play and crank the volume as high as it will go.”

“What's the point of this?” asked New Bruce as he navigated menus on the scroll.

“We are making an _entrance_.”

The noise of the drums in the song made it impossible to hear the radio. It was so loud that even Susan seemed to judder with the beat.

“TARMAC! ARE YOU TAPPING YOUR FOOT TO THE MUSIC?” How Bent was loud enough to get over the sound was a mystery.

Susan settled.

“NOT ANYMORE!”

All four wheels left the ground as Tarmac kept the speed up over the last rise on the bulldozed track back to the camp. Bent flexed at the knees to ride out the impact while trying to take in the scene. The camp was in ruins, tents scattered in the mayhem that had accompanied the Grimm. There were Beowolves everywhere, circling and running as they tried to find the sources of emotions they had been drawn to.

“Ok New Bruce, _now_ you can panic.”

 

Many of the Grimm were striking at the armoured troop carriers, which now had large gouges down their sides. Figures could be seen on top where they had climbed to get that last bit of distance. Another group of Grimm were on the opposite side of the camp to where Susan was currently barrelling in, with flashes of a red shirt visible from between them. Two limbs separated from the Beowolves that had owned them and sailed away from that fight. And standing on the ruins of one of the transport trucks was the largest Beowolf that Bent could remember even hearing about. It's paws crushed steel as it advanced on Anthony who calmly held out Dorothy in challenge.

One of the Beowolves attacking the troop carrier took a running leap for the people standing on top of it. The people seemed to be split between screaming or pointing at the rapidly approaching Warboys but the Grimm remained focused. Bent threw one of the last wooden spears at it. It took the beast high in the shoulder, damaging but not lethal. It flinched in the air and almost fell short, but long claws dug into an unprotected leg in a spray of blood. Bent launched himself off the perch into the densest concentration of Grimm with his sword out to bisect the first he could reach just as the song hit the lyrics about turning to a bird and flying away.

Seconds later, Susan hit her first Grimm. Carefully arranged spikes shredded the Beowolf and threw it's remains over the front of the ute. Reinforced mesh over the windscreen stopped larger parts from shattering the glass, but did nothing to stop the litres of black and red fluids blocking forward sight. Tarmac drove on memory of the camp, skidding sideways as he caught the next Grimm with the spikes off centre. He calmly reached over New Bruce with the shotgun and put both shells out the offside window into a Beowolf that had changed targets to them. He dropped the still smoking gun in his passenger's lap and shoved Susan into reverse, looking backwards out of the only clean glass he had left.

“Reload!” he reminded New Bruce, who fumbled for the shells.

Tarmac brought Susan to a halt next to the second troop carrier, ramming a Grimm out of the way to clear space. The offside was next to the troop carrier, and he pushed New Bruce out, pointing up as he did so. New Bruce took the hint and climbed up on top of Susan, then onto the troop carrier to join the others sheltering there. Tarmac flicked Daramulun to drive the closest Beowolf back, then stepped out into the carnage. Daramulun spun in the open space, it's voice deepening as it speed up. It buried itself in the skull of a Beowolf that got ahead of the pack and Tarmac jumped backwards to get on top of Susan as he pulled it out. He let Daramulun have more chain, swinging the bladed head through the bodies of Grimm that tried to pull him down. Beneath him, Susan rocked with impacts and noise from the speakers.

 

The Beowolf Alpha was big enough that one paw could have enveloped the puny Huntsman that stood against it, so it seemed absurd that a sword only as big as it's claws could stop it's strike. But stop the strike Dorothy did, focused Aura holding Ant's arm in place against the weight. The Alpha leaned it's full weight on the paw and Ant smiled as it committed. A flick of a switch on the hilt of Dorothy and the line of teeth started to vibrate. The pressure and the movement let them chew through the paw, the Alpha stumbling to the ground as the sword cut two of it's toes off. Ant brought Dorothy back into a cross guard and charged the Grimm, getting the teeth into a front knee while it tried to recover. Black blood spilled from the wound as the Alpha hopped backwards to get away from the blade. The blood slowed to a trickle within seconds and then the wound closed to join the patchwork of other scars across it's body.

Ant just looked on and dropped Dorothy into a fool's guard. He'd seen bigger, but not since the fall of Beacon had brought Goliaths near the city. The Beowolf pressed the attack again, this time sweeping with the undamaged paw to try and flick the huntsman up. Anthony jumped slightly and let himself roll over the top of the paw. Before he could take his feet again the massive jaws came down for him, but this is what he had been waiting for. Dorothy came up and under the jaw while Ant swayed back to keep out of the teeth. Dorothy whined as it started to cut into the massive lower jawbone and when the Alpha jerked it's head up to avoid the pain it exposed it's neck. Ant jumped to get in range and drew Dorothy across the weak point. He couldn't get a deep cut with the awkward angle, but the blood still fell in a black waterfall.

The Grimm hopped backwards again, putting the crushed truck between itself and the tiny human that was so effectively fighting it. Rather then try and continue the fight, it picked up a smaller Beowolf and threw that at Anthony, trying to use the distraction to disengage and find an easier target.

 

Bent was surrounded. One Grimm had tried to eat his hand and gotten a handbreadth's worth of chrome plated knife up through it's soft palate in return. But the weapon was still out of use as the Grimm died and good as he was with Gamma he couldn't defend from multiple directions with it. A jerk that took Gamma out of one Beowolf's chest drove the boarding spike into the eye of another and he was reduced to head butting a third that tried to bite for his neck. As that Grimm fell back and he pulled his knife out of a dissolving skull a humming noise made him look up.

There was a circling Bullhead and two rapidly growing grey specks falling from it in the air.

A Grimm in the centre of the camp exploded, converted by kinetic energy to a mostly liquid form. Cardin unfolded himself from the crater he had just made, the spray of blood and internals evaporating off him in a fog of death. He calmly backhanded a Grimm that sprung for him with his mace, spreading the contents of it's head in an arc of more blood. Dove landed much more sedately next to him and locked his back to Cardin in what was obviously a practiced maneuver.

Bent felt the wave of fear. It seeped into his mind, prodding at the damage already done by the knowledge that he wasn't going to be good enough to keep all the people behind him alive. It met the mantras of the Warboys and stopped. Fear meant little to a man who lived for a glorious death. The civilians behind had no such protection, but they couldn't really get any more scared. Most had already given up on their lives.

The Grimm felt the fear at full effect however, and every single one stopped what they were doing and faced Cardin. Their casualties were high as they started to run, their single-minded focus making them easy targets for the four huntsmen outside the circle. Within seconds however Cardin and Dove were fighting for their lives as the circle closed. Bent waded in behind the Grimm while Tarmac swung back into Susan and peeled off for a run-up. Bent did what he could to cut a path then dived sideways as Susan sped straight for where Cardin and Dove were still holding the centre. Dove saw it first and grabbed Cardin, turning him so he could be ready for the jump. They both got over the Grimm bar, Dove grabbing the lancer's perch as it went past and Cardin slamming straight into the mesh over the windscreen. His gloved fingers dug into the mesh over it to stop him rolling off. Susan smashed through another pair of Grimm to get out of the circle just as the massive Alpha swung for where they had been and crushed one of it's lesser brothers instead of the Huntsmen. Red and blue shirted Huntsmen didn't give it another chance, synchronising blows to break through a back leg at the hip and finally pin the beast down.

The wave of fear faded and the Grimm turned back to whatever was their closest target, but the damage was done. There was no longer enough that the mass of them prevented movement and six huntsmen were enough to systematically cut them down. As the last of the corpses evaporated into the air the three half-teams faced each other around the crater that Cardin and Dove's arrival had made.

“So, is making an entrance a first year course at Beacon? Because falling from the sky and splattering a Grimm on impact wasn't half bad.” Tarmac said while pointing at Cardin.

“First year? Beacon taught me that on the first day. I miss being able to haze the new students by throwing them off a cliff into a forest full of monsters.”

Around the joking Huntsmen, the survivors of the camp began to assemble. They picked over tents and camp stores, they bandaged wounds and called for others that they had been separated from during the attack. In moments the cost would have to be counted, but right now was time for those that had fought to relax in the knowledge that they were still there to count it.

Murry brought the moment to a halt by dropping a hand hard onto Ant's shoulder, and using it to push him towards the people trying to salvage from the crushed truck. Cardin and Dove both turned away and started to gather up ruined fabric from tents. New Bruce pushed into the gap that was left and handed Tarmac back the sawn-off shotgun. Tarmac flicked it open on reflex and looked in surprise as two spent shells fell out.

“You hit anything with those?” he asked.

“Yes. Got one just as it tried to climb up the cab.”

“Strewth mate, we'll make a Warboy out of you yet!” Tarmac replied and slapped New Bruce on the back. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground.

“I've got him.” said Bent. “You need to go call Mully and Critty back.”

 

As the camp rebuilt what they could in the midday sun, the low tone of Daramulun echoed from the nearest hilltop. The tone rose and fell in a regular pattern, sounding the all clear to those two who were trained to hear it. Six squashed into a vehicle that should only carry four, the took the trip back to camp slowly and carefully. When they got close, Mullyangah watched a pair of Bullheads lift off and speed for Vale.

 

The next morning was a slow start, cold and pain sapping the strength of those that survived. The casualty list was much shorter then expected, with a few who would never walk or use both arms again but only one that had died. Even the camp radio operator was found alive, the break in his transmission from a damaged antenna. Minor damage abounded, most caused by the panic and rush rather then the Grimm. Kahki walked up to the best table that could be made that morning with a limp himself. He gestured over the map that showed their job a third complete, then waved his arm over the mess of the camp that had been only slightly repaired.

“There's only one question here. Do we continue?”

Twelve Huntsmen looked at each other, emotions bare after surviving the day before. There was an argument in a language of aside glances and glares.

“Yes.” said Bent, first to be game to speak. “We came here to do a job, we knew it was going to be dangerous, why should we stop just because it is?”

“If we still have supplies and places to sleep, Cardinal is happy to keep going.” Cardin supported Bent.

“That Alpha must have been one of the oldest Grimm in existence.” Nobody could remember Murry having spoken before, and all turned to the red-shirted Huntsman. “It kept the whole pack under control and kept us under observation. It struck when we were at our weakest having known we would send those who could fight away. If the response hadn't been so fast, there would have only been one, maybe two survivors from that.” Murry gestured at himself and Anthony, showing just who those survivors would have been.

“So now we have to worry about Grimm from before the dawn of time now as well?” asked Pitch.

“Not anymore. It is dead now.” explained Murry. “A Grimm living that long is incredibly rare. I would say that it had with it every Grimm that was left in the area.”

“We can do our job. Can you still do yours?” asked Greg, taking control of the discussion again. Kahki and Pitch looked at each other before Kahki let Pitch go first.

“If the rest of the camp doesn't immediately want to head back to the city, yes. There's still enough people and enough supplies. Things will be uncomfortable, but they'll be uncomfortable even if we do start the trip back”

“Even if we do pack up and go home, we'll just have to come back to finish the job.” said Kahki, concluding the meeting. Bent left his team to go back to maintenance and took a tour of the camp with Pitch and Kahki, convincing the people he'd spent the last week working with and the last day protecting that everything was fine. He saw the flashes of fear in those eyes as memories of yesterday came back and had to hold himself back from saying anything. Were they really so unprepared for the world they lived in?

In the end nearly a quarter of the camp left that day, flown back on the Bullheads to Vale. The next day the work went on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Lessons:
> 
> The Leading Hand for a crew is the most experienced worker. He's basically the guy just under the supervisor who makes sure everybody is working but who doesn't have to do any of the paperwork.
> 
> The callsigns used here are close to being valid Amateur Radio callsigns but are very carefully not actual callsigns because those things are a matter of public record, including full name and address. The VH prefix is actually Australian planes, but looks like it could be a Vale callsign, the '1' indicates that it's from either the first or the most important state (the city itself in this case) and then it's a pattern of three letters. The letters do have meanings, but I'm not getting into the difference between a 'K' call and an 'N' call in Australian Amateur Radio.
> 
> "Fang It" is Australian slang for driving really fast. Usually used as a description, "Fanging It".
> 
> Daramulan was brought up in a language lesson way back. Short version, it's a Wiradjuri elder being said to inhabit Bullroarers and he's what allows them to make noise.
> 
> "Not Half Bad" is a another peculiar Australian verbal tic. When complimenting some things we'll do it in a really understated fashion but saying that it wasn't bad rather then it was good. This doesn't make it any less of a compliment.
> 
> "Strewth" is an example of our habit of cursing and word abbreviating being far older then anybody expects. It's a compression of "God's Truth", or something being true beyond mere mortals. It is also taking the Lord's name in vain. It's usage is rather specific, which is why it's taken me so long to get round to it. It gets used when somebody tells a story that you wouldn't believe, except that you trust the person telling it.


	17. Shop Talk

The full teams of Brimstone and Cardinal faced Headmistress Goodwitch over her desk in an office that was looking more like a home every time they ended up back there. They all admired the newest decorations as Goodwitch sorted through the reports that had been written. These after-action meetings with the Headmistress were common, but previous missions had not had quite this much action. Russell was facing the other way to admire the artwork hanging next to the door when she finished and tapped the paperwork against her desk to draw everyone's attention.

“Team Wiggle is very complimentary of all of your skills. While the attack was a tragedy any previous attempt to do this would have been buried under Grimm from the moment it left. The negotiated pay has been transferred to the appropriate accounts.”

“Thank you Headmistress.” said Cardin from his parade rest pose.

“I do have some question. Legate Bruce, your report repeatedly mentions a man by the name of New Bruce. There was no such man attached to the expedition.”

“Uh... Does anybody remember Bruce's real name?” Bent asked as he looked at the rest of his team.

“Downwhistle?” suggested Critty.

“Thompson. It was something Thompson.” stated Tarmac.

Mullyangah just shrugged.

“He did exist Headmistress. We just can't remember who he was.” summarised Bent.

“Do you have any way of contacting him again?”

“No.” said Tarmac. “When we were packing up I offered to give him some more training with guns and he called us all lunatics, grabbed his gear and legged it. I think he's avoiding us.”

“That is the normal response from civilians who have close encounters with Huntsmen. Change the report to refer to the man as Mr Thompson and resubmit it.”

“Fair enough.” said Bent.

“Now, you are expected to resume classes tomorrow, but for today you have meetings arranged with Beacon's staff counsellor. Time and location has been sent to your scrolls. You may return to your rooms.”

 

No amount of research had managed to explain what a counsellor was, but Tarmac did at least know who they were. Profiles for all of Beacon's staff were available to the students and that had been his first stop. Not that knowing that a Dr Gilder had graduated from a place he had never heard of with a degree in something he couldn't pronounce helped in any way. The directions to his office did help, and now all of Brimstone were amusing themselves in the corridor outside the door marked with his name. Sky was the last member of Cardinal out of the door, Dove taking his hand at the end of the corridor where he had waited. The open door beckoned to all the Warboys.

“So, who's first?” asked Bent.

“Play for it.” suggested Tarmac.

An arcane series of hand gestures followed between the four until Tarmac dropped his hands and his head in defeat. Critty put his hand consolingly on Tarmac's arm and said “We'll Witness you.” with a mocking lilt to his voice. Tarmac hit him. Critty shoved him back, pushing him towards the door. Left with no other choice Tarmac stepped through.

“Mr Bruce, welcome. Please take a seat.”

Doctor Gilder's words were a perfect example of avuncular compassion. The effort was completely wasted on Tarmac, who never knew his father and who's closest thing to an uncle had been the Warboy who hit him every time he messed up a gear change.

“Name's Tarmac.” he said as he dropped into one of the very comfortable chairs.

“You may call me Dean. We find that after any mission which has a death or serious injury, it's important to discuss it. Now this is the first time you have come to see me, so I'm going to ask some basic questions. Was this the first death you have witnessed?”

“No.” Tarmac managed to sound bored with a literal discussion of life and death.

“When was the previous event?”

“Would have been four months ago. The run from the Spire to the coastline. Lancer and Wheelman caught by a Ngyarnamalku. Huh, Bent was right. It has been a long time.” There had been others, more recent, but the Warboys extended Junior the courtesy of his secrets.

“Is death of those you know a common thing for you?”

“Bent and I, we've outlived over half of the Warpups we were raised with.”

“Do you have a process to help with that many deaths?”

“Why would we need one? We call Witness to remind the Sun that this is the moment it should be watching and we carry on.”

Doctor Gilder looked down at his notes, then back up at the pale and scarred Warboy.

“I find myself unprepared to continue this conversation, but you are not showing any of the warning signs I usually look for. Would you be available outside of classes to discuss more of your culture? And would you send the next member of your team in?”

Tarmac shruged, sorting through the classes schedule in his head to find free time. He still didn't know what a counsellor did, but he was looking forward to the chance to share stories of home.

 

Classes had resumed while Brimstone were still riding shotgun over a herd of surveyors, so what had been peaceful evenings around a fire turned into a focused effort to catch back up on what had been missed. Bent was seriously considering setting fire to all the books they currently had open as stress relief. The amount of paperwork involved in becoming a state sanctioned killing machine still amazed him.

“Oh hey, there you lot are.” came from a mop of blonde hair poked around the door. “Cardin said you were back. Yang's organising a birthday party for Ruby this weekend and you should probably come. She's going to take over the whole training hall.”

“Jaune, what's a birthday?” asked Mullyangah.

“A celebration of being another year older...” Jaune's voice trailed off hesitantly, realising what the question he had just been asked meant. “Do you not have birthdays?” He came fully into the section of the library they were working at and looked at the pile of textbooks.

“I think if we had them we wouldn't have had to ask you what they were.”

Drawing on his limited knowledge of the Warboy culture to provide examples, Jaune did his best to explain what a birthday was, how great they were and why they should totally come. Having satisfied himself that he had dragged the group into the event, he looked at his scroll to check the time then panicked and sprinted out of the room.

“Any idea what he's late for?” asked Critty.

“I know what we're late for, and it's Oobleck's labour laws comparison report. Back to work.”

Bent's scroll interrupted his attempt at getting the team back on track. On it was a simple message from Junior. “Heard you were back. Come see me.”

“Change of plans. Grab weapons and let's go see our favourite nightclub owner.” Bent announced to his team.

 

The full team faced Junior over the bar of his club, Melanie and Militia standing next to the club owner and part time crime boss. Junior reflexively filled glasses of water and slid them in front of the Warboys.

“While you were off playing pioneer, my friend got an address for where all that gear you protected went. I've got some questions that I want answers to.”

“Can we ask them nicely?” asked Tarmac “If we piss her off she might not invite us to the next race.”

“You can ask however you want, but if you don't get answers you'll piss me off.”

“Give us the address, we'll sort it out.” said Bent.

 

The given address was a reclaimed set of light industrial blocks near the docks. With the loss of residential land near the wall in the Fall, areas like this one had to be rebuilt to house people instead of businesses. The rebuilding wasn't perfect, and a set of what used to be concrete warehouses and were now small speciality stores provided cover and roller doors large enough to allow a truck entry for the underhanded business. Tarmac pulled Mithralius into a parking spot in front of a clothing store that looked like where Ruby would have bought her outfit.

“So how are we doing this?” asked Tarmac.

“Shock and Awe. Break down the door, stab someone as a reminder to the rest of them then turn the place over looking for contact details.” said Bent.

“How about Shock and Awww?” suggested Critty. The rest of the Warboys stared at him. “They're mechanics right? Tarmac and I roll Mithralius in and pop the bonnet, distract everyone with the Shiny. You and Mully break quietly in the back door and drag the boss into the office to interrogate them.”

“You're going to treat Mithralius like a showpiece, dragging her out for the masses?” asked Tarmac.

“You don't think it will work?” replied Critty.

“Of course it will work. To think anything else would be an insult to her.”

“Are we even sure this place has a back door?” asked Mully.

“Why don't you get out and check if it does before you shoot down my plans?”

“Because your plans are generally shit.”

Bent opened his door, and cut the arguing short by opening Mullyangah's as well.

“Come on, let's go see what we're working with before we decide which of the plans is stupid.”

The backs of the units were even more similar then the fronts as they lacked branding. Bent counted doors and windows to confirm which of them was what he needed. It was the one with the extra bars over the windows, not that they were really out of place in these old industrial areas. Mully compared the lock on the door to the lock on the door to the next building, then carefully forced the other lock. A little bit of fire Dust on a string poked behind the latch softened it, then brute force on his knife popped the door open. Satisfied that the trick would work again, Mullyangah propped the damaged door closed and took a guard position near the door they actually needed to get through.

Bent returned in minutes and as soon as he took the lookout position they could both hear the rumble of Mithralius' V8 and the hammer of Critty's fist on the front roller door. Mully's ear was pressed to the door to pick out the murmur of voices that changed from the generic low tones of work to surprise as they discovered who had come to visit. Mully gave them another thirty seconds to make sure that shooting wasn't going to start, then tapped Bent and started burning the lock open.

Going in blind was a problem, but Mullyangah had to trust that Critty knew his role. As soon as the lock broke Mully pushed the door open enough for Bent to get his head through and braced for the outcry. Bent pulled his head back without anything going wrong, and Mully could hear Critty's voice answering questions over the rumble, which suddenly got louder. They had probably opened the bonnet.

“Back door opens into an office, there's a big window looking out over the shop floor. Door to the left of the window leads into the workshop and there's two doors on the right wall. Didn't see anyone who looked like they were in charge so we're going right. You take the near door, I'll take the far.” Bent explained the plan as he propped his sword against the wall and pulled his knife. Mully flipped his blade into a backwards grip and nodded. Bent pushed the door open and went in fast.

Mully made half an effort to close the door behind him, just enough so that it would pass a casual glance. In the workshop through the window a female mechanic had their arms in the engine bay of Mithralius and a radio was gently squawking something about a prisoner of society which he could pick out now that the conversation between Critty and the workers had died down.

The door that Bent had picked for himself was already open, his scarred back disappearing through it. Three steps brought Mully to his door, and a quick turn of the handle and push with his off hand revealed a white tiled and barely clean bathroom. This was not what they were after. He backed out and followed through the door Bent had left open.

Bent was kneeling on a plain desk, paperwork scattered around him as he held a man's mouth shut and pressed the tip of his knife into the collared shirt over where the man's heart should be. The man looked too scared to breathe. Mully quickly sorted through the paperwork. Supplier records, payslips, bills for utilities for the building. Not finding anything useful there he started flicking through the man's scroll. There were a few interesting possibilities in the contacts list but it was when he opened the maps app was when he found what he needed. There was an address saved in it which was simply titled “The Boss”. The whole search had been completed in silence so far so he walked in front of Bent to show him the find without needing him to look away from the man he was still threatening.

Bent looked at the address, then nodded. Mully flicked open his own scroll and copied the address down, then sent a message to Tarmac saying that they had what they needed and it was time to make an exit. Bent motioned Mullyangah over and once Mully had a short section of pantomime convinced him to take over holding the man down. A roll of duct tape appeared from one of Bent's pockets and he taped the man into the chair and his mouth closed. The sound of the music from the workshop suddenly got louder.

Mully slid on bare feet over to the door, listening to footsteps that moved through the office. They stopped and he could hear the door to the bathroom close. Mully waved Bent over, then pulled the door open and both of them walked quickly but quietly through the open room straight for the back door. They didn't have time to hide themselves from view through the big window and just had to hope that Critty was still doing his job. The last thing Mully heard as he pulled the door back closed from outside was the rumble of Mithralius' V8 spinning up to push the car back out of the garage.

They met up again a block away from the workshop, an unlit street corner with more converted light industrial buildings serving as a backdrop. Tarmac and Critty both popped doors open, letting the other two slide straight in. Mully took the front offside seat this time, opening the map on his scroll and starting to navigate to the address they had copied down. There was a hard time limit now, as even if the man they had left behind couldn't get out of the duct tape, he would eventually be found.

 

Mullyangah guided them to a fairly nice detached house. Space within the walls was at a premium so even the richest had houses that were shoved into small blocks. This one didn't have a big enough footprint to count as rich, but the small gap between it and the neighbours plus the three stories of rendered concrete signified somebody who was doing well. They tried to be nice, with Bent ringing the doorbell, Mully tucked next to the door and listening while Critty and Tarmac stood back on the street and held all their weapons. Mully indicated that he could hear the footsteps coming closer, then that they had stopped, then that they were moving away again. Bent shrugged then waved Critty forward.

Critty sprinted up from the street, throwing Wokali and the boarding sword to their respective owners. He didn't slow down at the door but rather turned and ducked slightly. His whole mass concentrated on his shoulder hit the door just outside the lock. The door cracked but held and the reaction force threw Critty back. He stumbled until Bent and Mully caught him by an arm each, then they threw him back into the door.

This time the hardwood around the bolt exploded into the house and the door swung open. On it's way back after rebounding off the doorstop it was stopped by Critty's body where he had fallen face down on what was quite a nice carpet runner. Mullyangah's bare feet pushed into his back as the black Warboy went over the top of him with Wokali up then Bent followed. It wasn't until Tarmac got there that somebody helped him up, and the two pulled the runner forward until it pressed against the door and held it closed from prying eyes.

Mully led through the dining room and into the kitchen on the bottom floor. Everything here appeared to be publicly accessible, with almost no flair or human touch to the design. White walls, white table, white cupboards, black fake stone bench tops. The first sign of life was the racks of serving spoons and knives on one of the walls for cooking with.

They took the other door out of the kitchen which put them back in the ground floor hallway but next to the stairs heading up. Tarmac was securing the front door while Critty checked the back and found it still locked. Bent held at the bottom of the stairs while Mully ran up them three at a time and when the Warboy disappeared around the corner at the top of the stairs Bent followed.

The stairs immediately opened into a living area that was more unique then below. More white walls and the corner couch was covered in white leather, but the bookshelves on one wall were bright blue as was the low enclosed shelving that the television was sitting on. Mully was ahead with a door to a bathroom open. Bent was about to vault the couch in order to get to the other door when the doors on the television unit opened and a familiar if unremarkable man exploded out of them.

Bent was turning with the noise but the first blow still took him in the back. The force pushed him over the couch and his legs caught so it turned into a face plant on the thin carpet flooring. As he threw himself sideways and onto his back he watched a soap bottle fly overhead and heard it hit. In the momentary distraction he pulled his torso up enough to grab the edge of the couch, then threw himself backwards and pulled that section of the couch off balance. When the unremarkable man jumped the couch to pursue Mully, he pushed out with his feet and threw the couch into him. Bent immediately had to roll again so that the weaponised furniture didn't fall on him.

As Bent was getting back to his feet and recollecting his sword, Mully was trying to pin the unremarkable man to the floor. Even with the advantage of starting on his feet, Mully was clearly outclassed. Every strike with Wokali was blocked with the knife in one hand while the other hand was around an ankle and trying to pull Mully off balance. He managed to get Mully to fall at the same time that Bent got up, and the knife went from fending off the shield to trying to stop a hobnailed combat boot as Bent kicked for his head. Aura and metal studs deflected the knife, but the knife also deflected the boot and Bent had to rapidly bring it back to keep his own footing.

Bent's target flipped himself upright, the same flexibility that had allowed him to fold into the TV stand on display. Bent flicked his sword at the centre of mass. He didn't intend to draw blood, just to use his greater reach to keep control of the fight. It would have worked had his opponent not been capable of folding himself backwards to let the sword pass overhead and then using the momentum from straightening up to get inside the arc of the sword. The knife went into Bent's ribs with a straight stab.

With his Aura holding off the knife and his sword useless behind the other man's back, Bent smashed his bald head into the jaw of his opponent. When he tried it a second time it was dodged and the free arm was dropped over his head and around, pinning him into the headlock. Bent tensioned his neck to take the strain and tried to lift his feet off the floor, while the unremarkable man used the extra leverage to put more force behind his knife. That was the point when Mully's thrown book hit him in the back of the knee. Suddenly it was the other way around, with Bent now holding the weight of both their bodies. Bent threw what he had left into a charge, straight at a concrete wall. He moved fast enough that the man he was grappling couldn't get his feet back underneath him and took the full force of the impact pinned between the wall and Bent's shoulder. Paint flaked off the concrete from the point of impact. In the moment where he was recovering from that, Mullyangah smashed the flat face of Wokali into his nose.

Even with both of those impacts he wasn't out. He got his feet back on the ground and pulled the knife away from Bent's ribs to stab at Mullyangah as the shield was retracted. Which left Bent with a clear shot at his groin with a free hand. That was the strike that decided the fight. All the strength went out of his legs and Bent let him fall, just to step back and line up a kick to the face that bounced his head off the concrete in a flash of Aura and paint chips.

Bent left Mullyangah to watch over the unremarkable man and took the steps to the third floor much more cautiously. That knife had gotten close to breaking through his Aura and if there was another fighter like that in the house things were going to get very messy. When he opened the first door he could see on the third floor a single shot rang out in the enclosed space. He pushed the door the rest of the way open cautiously from out of the line of fire and dropped his sword in full view of the room.

“I'm just here for some questions.” he said over the ringing of his sword on the thin carpet.

“Well you can ask them from over there.” came the voice of the race organiser.

“Someone convinced you to attack Junior. Where do we find them?”

“You think I'm just going to turn on my friends like that?”

“I think you're already on the losing side, and you had better think about getting better friends.”

“Like who, you?”

“Why not? Junior's not a bad guy and we were skilled enough to find you.”

“Yeah, you found me. What are you going to do with that?”

“Hopefully not stabbing. I'm sick of stabbing people. That sword's for Grimm. Give me an address and we just go away.”

“Fine. Write this down. Floor 17 Opal Tower, 86 West Terrace.”

“Thank you.”

“Are we still good to come to the next race?” asked Critty from where he had snuck to, next to Bent and also pressed against the wall.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

Bent recollected Mully on the way down. Tarmac was already behind the driver's seat and had the engine turning over by the time the rest of the team was out of the door. Critty spent the whole trip out of the house trying to defend his question.

“Right. Drive it like you stole it and take us home before somebody calls in that gunshot.” said Bent as he pulled himself into the front offside seat. Tarmac calmly pulled Mithralius away from the curb and kept just below the speed limit for the whole trip, giving the various police they passed absolutely no reason to stop and question them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, four thousand words without any Australian slang. I'm slipping.
> 
> Prisoner of Society is a song by The Living End, a Melbourne three-piece band who's most distinctive trait is that their base player has a classical Double Bass rather then a bass guitar. They'll be back for next chapter as well.
> 
> Opal Tower is a block of apartments in Sydney that got in the news over Christmas 2018 because it started to crack apart. I can give long technical descriptions about how it failed and the legal fallout, but all you really need to know is that there was a building of people who's present for Christmas was a huge cracking noise and being told their homes were unsafe.


End file.
